The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore
by KillTheWhelp
Summary: Hunter McCarthy isn't an outstanding FBI Agent, but she still manages to catch the eye of David Rossi when he comes back to the BAU.
1. Seven Seconds

** "Sketchy": The word** I used to describe the first few cases I had been on while working in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. By the time we had discovered that Karl Arnold (AKA "The Fox" was taking families hostage and living in their homes as the patriarch before killing them and making the _real _father watch, I had stopped being surprised by the sketchiness.

But I have to admit—the last case we had worked on…was pretty sketchy…

A young, asthmatic girl went missing in a shopping mall during a trip there with her parents, uncle, aunt, and cousin. My partners, Agents Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan, and I went to the girl's home after a gold necklace with a broken latch had been located in a trash can. Reid discovered her stained mattress. But I…I found the doll.

_"Katie's been wetting her bed…_" _Reid observed, lifting up the blankets and sheets._

_ "A lot of six year-olds do," Morgan shrugged, standing up. "Could be bad dreams." He turned and crouched over my shoulder, helping me look through her toys for any clues._

_ "Some kids won't get up at night 'cause they're afraid of the dark," Reid said. He was notorious for spouting out random bits of knowledge._

_ "Oh no," I muttered, picking up what _was_ a Barbie doll._

_ "What is it, McCarthy?" Derek said._

_ "I think this is a _lot_ more complex than that," I said, getting up, forcing Morgan to get out of my personal bubble. We walked over to Reid, who was still standing by the bed._

_ The doll's hair had been chopped off. Apparently, Katie had tried to do Barbie's make-up with a Sharpie, making her look like some of the kids I went to high school with._

_ "Most girls covet their dolls, like an extension of themselves" Reid said, analyzing it. _

_ "Reid, I know these signs," Morgan stared at the doll in my latex-gloved hand. "Acting out on her toys, wetting the bed; she's obviously covering up something about that necklace."_

_ I bit my lip because I knew exactly what he was talking about: Molestation._

_ Reid thought for a moment. "And her cousin might be holding something back."_

_ "Katie's in a lot of pain and not tellin' anybody and I think I know why," Morgan said, pulling out his cell phone._

_ "I hope you're wrong," I muttered, staring into the doll's black eyes._

Eventually, we discovered that Katie's uncle was the one who had been molesting her. But he wasn't the kidnapper, it was his wife.

Sketchy. I know.

And as I stood outside the mall, crossing my arms over my chest for a little warmth, I reflected on the case. I watched the aunt and uncle get escorted into separate vehicles. I watched the parents walk alongside the girl as she was wheeled in a gurney to a nearby ambulance. I wanted to smile, knowing that we had saved the girl, but only just.

"I heard you found the doll."

Turning around, I saw our Unit Chief, Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner. He was walking up to stand beside me.

"Yeah," I sighed, feeling dumb about my answer. I hardly knew how to talk around him when I had to be serious.

"It was a good find," he said, staring at the ambulance.

"I'm sure Morgan would've found it if I hadn't."

"Hunter, you need to learn how to take a compliment."

"I know," I grinned, staring at my shoes. "I, uh, heard you saved Katie's life. I think that's a little more important than finding a doll."

"Yeah," Hotch sighed in the same exact tone that I had before. It was rare that he showed any signs of emotion or humor.

"Are you mocking me?"

"Yeah."

"Shut up."

"C'mon, I'll give you a ride home," Hotch said, patting me on the shoulder.


	2. About Face

**"Happy Halloween, Hunter!"**

"Your alliteration pleases me greatly," I winked across my desk at Emily Prentiss, another one of my BAU-mates. "But it's not even Halloween yet."

"You know you love me," she batted her thick eyelashes at me. Emily was looking especially pretty that day with her shoulder-length black hair down in waves.

I was about to reply when I heard a muffled sort of groaning noise. I looked up and saw Morgan reading through some case files.

Morgan was a hunky mulatto notorious for kicking doors down. I used to have the biggest crush on him, but then I found out he wasn't interested in dating women who are gun-certified…well, you can imagine I got over that quickly.

Behind him stood a tall, skinny man wearing not only eccentric clothes, but a Frankenstein's Monster mask, a noose-necklace, and a pair of gloves. He was also carrying around a plastic jack-o-lantern and a paper bag with what looked like a black wig sticking out of it. I assumed he was the groaner.

"Don't look now, but Reid's—"

"Grrr, I'm going to _eat_ you!" Reid interrupted my warning by scaring the shit out of Morgan. Emily and I both started laughing.

"Reid—" Morgan started.

"Happy All Hallows' Eve, folks!" Reid pulled back the mask. "To paraphrase from Celtic mythology, tomorrow night, all order is suspended and the barriers between the natural and the _supernatural_ are temporarily remoooooooved!" he said in a spooky voice. He pulled on the wig and out came a creepy shrunken head, which he threw to a laughing Emily.

We seemed to be the only ones enjoying this. Morgan just seemed ticked off. He was probably pissed because Reid, of all people, scared him.

"See, that right there is why Halloween creeps me out," Morgan said.

"Oh, quit trying to be cool," I rolled my dark green eyes.

"You're scared of Halloween?" Reid asked.

"I didn't say I was scared," Morgan said.

"What a cool guy," I stage-whispered to Emily, who chuckled.

"I said I was creeped out," Morgan gave me a quick look and I winked back at him. "There's a difference there, youngster, you should look it up."

I think Reid and I were the youngest on the team. I was only a few years older than him, but he had a few more Ph.D's than all of us put together.

"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asked.

"I dunno, people wearing masks. I don't like folks in disguises," he tried to go back to his files.

"That's the best thing about Halloween; you can be anyone you wanna be," Reid said, throwing him a piece of candy.

"Nah, I'm pretty good just being me," Morgan said, again trying to go back to the files.

"Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?" Emily asked before I could make another comment about him trying to be cool.

"You know what, though? On the flip side, it does provide a pretty good reason to cozy up with a scary flick…and a little Halloween Honey," he winked and pointed a finger-gun at her.

"Ew…Halloween Honey? That's—now _I_'m creeped out," I wrinkled my nose.

"Guy's, he's here," Reid whispered.

We turned around and saw Erin Strauss, our "direct superior" (who was a complete bitch), walk past us. Behind her was a man I believed to be a legend.

David Rossi.

He had short, dark hair, mustache/goatee, and olive toned skin—obviously Italian. He was wearing a tan-ish brown jacket and jeans. He seemed to be checking us out. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Reid quickly yank the mask off, revealing his long dirty-blonde hair, and I noticed the smile on David Rossi's face. I watched as they walked up the stairs and into Hotch's office.

"Is it true that he's replacing…?" I trailed off, not knowing how to end the question.

"I think so," Morgan sighed.

"And I was just getting used to not having Gideon around," I said, frowning.

Moments later, Jennifer Jareau (JJ), our pretty, blonde communications coordinator and liaison, walked by, informing us that she was ready to give the briefing. Then, Hotch and Rossi walked down to our desks. We all stood up to greet them; well, Reid was already standing up, hurriedly taking off his costume.

"SSA David Rossi, this is SSA Emily Prentiss," Hotch introduced.

Emily shook his hand and excitedly said, "Sir!" Rossi smiled back.

"SSA Derek Morgan."

"It's an honor, Agent Rossi," Morgan shook his hand.

"Please, just Dave," Rossi said.

"SSA Hunter McCarthy."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," I held out my hand and beamed. He really was a handsome man…

"Likewise," he smiled as he shook it. His large and rough hand engulfed mine for a few seconds.

"And Dr. Spencer Reid," Hotch said, giving Reid a slightly embarrassed tight-lipped smile.

"Sir, i-i-if I could talk to you later a-about your work with, uh, the Scarsdale Skinner. Uh, ps-psycholinguistics is an incredibly dynamic field, a-and the fact that your profile of his reading habits ultimately led to his capture is something I find so incredibly—"

"Reid, Reid," Hotch went into dad-mode and interrupted Reid's speedy talking. "Slow down. Uh, he'll be here for a while. Catch up with him later."

"Right, uh, right," Reid whispered. "Sorry."

I couldn't help but smile at that. I wanted to laugh, but I was afraid of making a scene and embarrassing myself in front of Rossi.

"No problem doctor," Rossi gave Reid a reassuring smile.

"Maybe you guys can talk on the jet," Hotch suggested.

"Oh, yeah, that'd be great," Reid smiled.

"I brought Phase 10," I elbowed Emily.

"Yes!" she said through gritted teeth.

"The jet?" Rossi looked slightly alarmed.

I almost made a smartass comment, but bit my tongue instead.

"We have a jet now," Hotch told Rossi.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, it comes in pretty handy. C'mon, JJ's waiting," Hotch said, leading the way to the bullpen. We followed him in single-file and I smirked when Morgan whacked Reid in the back of the head.

JJ was setting files down in front of the swivel chairs as we walked in.

"Carrollton, Texas is a suburb just outside of Dallas. Four days ago, Michelle Colucci found this flyer on her front door," she began as we all sat down. She pressed a button on her clicker and the screen on the wall changed from a map of Carrollton to a picture of an older blonde woman running a hand through her hair. Above her were the words, "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?"

"_She_ found it?" Derek asked, finally sitting down.

"Meaning she wasn't actually missing," Emily stated.

"Yet," JJ corrected. "She took the flyer to a friend's husband, Detective Yarborough at the Carrollton PD, who told her it was probably just a Halloween prank and he sent her home."

"Well, I don't blame him," Morgan started.

I looked down and rolled my eyes. Rossi, who was next to me, must have noticed because he started to smile a little.

"Halloween brings out the fool in everyone," Morgan gave Reid a pointed glance.

"Still, he stopped by Michelle's house later to check on her. The door was open and when he went inside, he found this," JJ turned and pressed the clicker several times, showing us pictures of a red wall covered in those "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" posters. "Still thought maybe it could be some kind of a prank…until yesterday. Michelle was found floating in a small creek just outside of Carrollton," JJ said, changing the picture to that of Michelle's corpse. "She had been sexually assaulted…" the picture changed again, revealing something far more gruesome, "and her face had been removed."

I grimaced. That was why I didn't eat before briefings.

"Removed?" Rossi asked. "Was it animals or fish?"

"The Dallas County ME said the edges of the wounds were smooth, not torn. A very sharp instrument had been used. He also found water in her lungs," JJ reported.

Just as I took a deep breath to compose myself, the door behind us opened and I heard a familiar voice.

"Oh my God!"

It was Penelope Garcia, our flamboyant tech analyst. Her hair today was white blonde with pink streaks in it. She was wearing a pale pink dress with green flowery designs.

"What is that?" Garcia covered her face with a file.

"Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia, this is SSA David Rossi," Hotch introduced, clearly concerned about how he though David might think of her.

"Is it gone, JJ?" Garcia asked, completely ignoring Hotch.

"Yeah, yeah-yeah," JJ smiled, pressing the clicker to show a picture of a half-eaten plate of food. "You're safe," she sat down.

"Okay," Garcia gasped for breath, lowering the case file. I couldn't exactly understand what she said because she seemed so freaked out, but I gathered that she was talking about Carrollton's population. "I'm sorry. Very happy to meet you…sir," Garcia said, walking toward Rossi with her hand held out. After they shook hands, she started to back out. "I'll be in my…office," and with that, she spun around and left. Then she remembered to close the door, turned around, apologized, and closed it.

I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. She was such a cutie.

"She's different," Rossi said to Hotch.

"You have no idea," I blurted out, biting my lip again. I tried to ignore the fact that Rossi was staring at me, but I could do nothing about my bright red cheeks.

"Uh, so, the unsub tells her she's going to go missing to psychologically torture her, then tortures her physically," Emily said, getting the spotlight off me and, thankfully, onto her. "Textbook sadist."

"A sophisticated one," Hotch commented, staring up at the screen. Again, it was displaying the posters on the wall. "That's elaborate."

"Number one," Morgan said, staring at a picture from inside the case file. I looked through mine and saw the white mask on the table with the word "one" written on it in red.

"Uh, that particular mask is known as a false face. It's most commonly worn during Halloween and Mardi Gras," Reid pointed out.

"Creepy," Morgan said, putting the picture down. "I rest my case."

"False face," Hotch said as the picture of the mask was displayed on the screen.

"Her face?" Emily said, struggling to come up with an idea. "Uh, he mocks it, then destroys it?"

"Oh, and Hotch," JJ said, breaking the small silence, "ugh, local media has the story; broke big."

"Tell Carrollton we'll be there first thing in the morning," Hotch replied. "Let's stop this one at one."

"Yes, sir."

"If you wanna take some time, get situated," Hotch said to Rossi, "maybe start on the next case…"

"I'm not back to get situated, Hotch. I'm here to work."

"Okay. Everybody get your things together, we're going toTexas," Hotch ordered as we all stood up.

* * *

"Dammit, Hunter!" Emily groaned, throwing down her hand of cards.

"Don't hate, appreciate," I smirked, leaning back in the comfy seat.

"Which phase are you on now?" she asked, collecting all the cards and shuffling them.

I looked at the card. "Two sets of four. You?"

Emily groaned again while doing the bridge thing that I couldn't do for the life of me. "A set of four and a run of four."

"Ohhh, I hate that one," I frowned.

"You got it on your first try!"

"I've got four words for you, Ems," I said, lifting that amount of fingers. "Luck—of—the—cards."

"And I've got one word for the two of you," Hotch said, coming up behind us. "Case."

"I _asked_ if you wanted to play…" I said, taking the cards from Emily and putting them back in the cardboard container. I got up, walked a little ways, and put the cards into my bag of things in the carry-on rack. Of course, it was on the rack right above where Rossi was sitting, "reading" the case file. I felt self-conscious when my blouse rose up a little and showed some of my stomach. I damned myself for deciding to wear one of those half-camisole things that only covered the chest area.

"Nice shoes," Rossi said.

As soon as I was done zipping up my bag, I looked down and remembered that I was wearing a pair of Converse low-tops.

"Oh, uh, thanks," I said, awkwardly chuckling. "See, my first case, I wore heels and I went out in the field and sprained my ankle, so—"

"Strauss's a little more lax about Hunter and her footwear," Hotch said, putting his hand on my shoulder and dragging me over to where I had originally been. Only now, JJ had taken my place. "Now, let's go over victimology. Would you like to join us, Dave?"

Without a word, Rossi put the file down and came over to us. He sat down on the seat next to me.

"Reid, what have you got?" Hotch asked.

"Uh, um, Michelle Colucci was single, lived alone, no boyfriend, and no ex-husband," he said.

Next to me, Rossi pulled out a little notepad and a pen and started scribbling things down.

"Dating?" JJ asked.

"There's nothing in the reports," I said.

"She was an architect," JJ said, the little seat-stealer. "Friends and co-workers says she's a classic workaholic. Basically a loner who rarely went out of the house."

"So, she's extremely low-risk," Emily pointed out.

"If it wasn't someone she knew personally, it's possible she was being stalked," I threw out.

"Interesting," Rossi mumbled from beside me. We all looked at him.

"What's that?" Reid asked.

"Oh, I-I'm just thinking out loud," Rossi explained.

"Something to add?" Hotch looked over at Reid and then back to Rossi.

"No, sorry to interrupt," Rossi said.

"Well, she's pretty," Morgan shuffled through some pictures. "Could be that the unsub met her casually and…made her part of some kinda fantasy."

"And he tries to act on it and she rejects him," Hotch continued.

"So, he tortures her…out of anger?" Emily suggested.

"Masks often represent a state of mind. This one's blank," Reid pointed out, "expressionless. Doesn't really coincide with anger."

"Reid, it's hard to imagine he did this out of anything less than rage," Morgan said, showing him the picture of Michelle's faceless corpse.

"_Hey guys,_" Garcia's tinny voice came from a computer monitor.

"What's up? You got something for us?" Morgan asked. I was surprised at how unflirty he was. Usually they were very…flirty, for lack of a better word.

"_A list of Michelle Colucci's clients. She…designed office space, mostly big corporate remodeling plans,_" Garcia informed us.

"No private clients," Hotch said. I didn't really catch the last bit because I was distracted by Rossi and his personal note-taking.

"_Doesn't look like it, no,_" Garcia replied

"Thanks, baby girl," Morgan said.

_"Yeah."_

* * *

The seven of us were led through the Carrollton Police Department until we found Detective Yarborough picking up a fax. He was a tall and skinny man with thinning hair, a mustache, and a soul patch under his lip.

"Yes, right this way, ma'am," our escort said to JJ.

She nodded in response and kept going. "Detective Yarborough," she said, holding out a hand.

"FBI," the Texan man seemed antsy. "We've got another flyer," he said, holding up his fax. It was another "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" thing. "This time Metro Dallas." Yarborough began walking down an aisle. "Enid White," he told us as we made ourselves comfortable. "Her roommate called Dallas PD this morning. Enid never came home after walking her dog last night."

"So, she _is_ missing," Reid stated.

"Well, he wallpapered the neighborhood with flyers for two blocks around their apartment."

"Outside—that's different," Morgan said.

"No one saw him putting them up…?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Dallas PD's still canvassing, but nothing so far," Yarborough shook his head and turned to look at Hotch. "They're waiting for you on the new scene."

"Mind if I keep this?" Hotch asked. I just then realized that he had the flyer.

"Not at all."

"Morgan, you and Prentiss go to Michelle Colucci's house," Hotch assigned. "Uh, JJ and I'll talk to Enid's roommate. Dave, do you mind walking the disposal site with the detective, McCarthy, and Reid?"

"Whatever you need," Rossi said unenthusiastically. I hoped he wasn't annoyed with me… But then again—why would he be? I mean, if he were to be annoyed with anyone, it'd have to be Reid.

"We'll regroup in an hour."

* * *

"We went over this area pretty thoroughly," Yarborough told us as we walked through some brush. "There's no evidence left."

"I just wanna…stand where she was," Rossi said from behind me. "McCarthy, do we still keep all old the files in the fourth floor store room?"

"I think some are in there," I shrugged. "Some of our info's on computer now."

"Right," Rossi replied.

"Have you had a chance to go through any of our data since you've been back?" Reid asked.

"Not yet."

"Oh—you'll be amazed. Uh, the original team, uh, I mean, _you_ interviewed something like forty-five serial killers, right?"

_Shut up, Reid, you're gonna get on his nerves…_

"Something like," Rossi said in a distracted voice.

"Today we've interviewed with over a thousand offenders. Uh, serial killers, child abductors, sex offenders—"

"Is he always like that?" Yarborough turned and asked me as Reid went on.

"Who, Reid? Always chattering away aimlessly and endlessly?" I raised an eyebrow. "Pret-ty-much."

We stopped at the water's edge.

"Michelle's body was found right here," Yarborough sounded sad. "I really thought it was a prank."

"Can't really blame yourself for that," Reid said, trying to sound comforting.

"She made herself dinner."

"Excuse me?"

"She had time to make herself dinner. Means she was home for awhile before he… There was time to help her."

As Yarborough spoke, Rossi started walking around. I took this as an opportunity to follow him and learn from the master.

"Water," he said to himself. "Obliterates a body…destroys evidence." He got up on a fallen tree and stared into the muck below. "But you weren't in the water that long, were you, Michelle?"

"She had rocks tied to her to weigh her down," Yarborough said, trying to be helpful.

"But she floated to the surface before there was any other damage," Reid added.

I could hear Yarborough and Reid talking, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy trying to read Rossi's brain and find out what his epiphany was.

"Green River dumped most of the bodies in water…but they weren't weighed down," Rossi said to himself.

"Well, yeah, that's because he didn't care if they were found," I pointed out. "He had no connection to them." And that's when it hit me…

* * *

Back at the department, Reid was with Yarborough at his computer. I sat with Rossi, who was, of course, scribbling away in his little notebook. I, however, was mulling over what we had figured out at the creek. Suddenly, Hotch walked in.

"We got anything?"

"Agent Rossi pointed out that since the victims weighted down, the killer didn't want them to be found, so he must have some kinda connection to them," I said.

"Detective, how long was Michelle missing?" Hotch asked.

"She was found on the fourth day," Yarborough answered.

"So, she wasn't in the water long," Hotch said as his phone rang, "then he held her for three. Garcia?" he asked, putting his phone on speaker.

"_I've been running all of…Enid White's credit cards_…" Garcia said slowly.

"And?"

"_She made a purchase at nine AM this morning at a sporting goods store in Dallas_."

"This morning?"

"What did she buy?" I asked.

"_A shotgun_," Garcia replied.

We all looked at each other and I sighed.

"Thanks," Hotch said, hanging up the phone. JJ entered the room. "She can buy a gun that easily?"

"This _is_ Texas…" Yarborough pointed out.

"There's no license or waiting period for most rifles or shotguns," Rossi explained.

"Is there video surveillance of gun sales in sporting goods stores?" Hotch asked.

"There's supposed to be," Yarborough said.

"JJ, call the store and find out if it was Enid or the unsub using her credit card."

"Right away," she said, leaving the room.

"Detective Yarborough," said a young policeman who walked into the room. "There's an urgent call from a woman on one."

Yarborough pressed a button on his telephone. "Detective Yarborough."

"_My name is Enid White_," came the voice of a woman.

"Where are you, Enid?"

"_The news report said that the police didn't believe that other woman when she saw the Missing flyers_."

"…That was a mistake, Enid."

"_I have a gun. I don't think I can stay awake very much longer._"

"Enid, this is Agent Hotchner of the FBI," Hotch took over. "We believe you and we want to help you. Can you tell us where you are?"

"_El Royale Motel in Dallas. It's room six. I saw the flyers. Hurry, please. He's gonna kill me._"

"Don't move,Enid, we're on our way," said Yarborough.

* * *

We sped to the El Royale Motel and got out of the black SUVs, guns in hand. I followed Rossi and Hotch.

"FBI!" Hotch yelled prior to Yarborough opening the door and ducking in. We followed suit and what we found certainly dampened our hopes.

"Clear," said Yarborough, coming out of the bathroom.

On the bed lay a bunch of flyers and another false face mask. Only this time, it said "two".

"She's gone," Emily said as we all stared in disbelief at the bed.

A few minutes later, I was standing outside with Rossi and Hotch. A Dallas cop came out of the motel room with Enid's fat pug.

"Twenty minutes," Yarborough said, going after the cop. "We were here in twenty minutes." He was getting frustrated and I couldn't blame him. "I can't believe we lost her."

"We may not have lost her," Hotch said as Rossi wrote in his notebook. "He kept Michelle for four days."

"Well, we got nothing!"

"That's not true—look at the difference in the scenes."

"What do you mean? There's a mask, there's flyers," Yarborough said as Emily walked out and over to us with a flyer in an evidence bag.

"Yeah," she said, holding up the flyer. "But these flyers weren't tacked up, they were just thrown around the room."

"So?"

"He left in a hurry, like he knew we were coming," Hotch said as Morgan also came outside.

"Okay, this was under the bed," he said, brandishing a cell phone. "972 area code."

"That's Carrollton," Yarborough took the phone and examined the most recently dialed call. "A hotline number."

"She used a cell phone," Emily said.

"You can get a cell interceptor at any electronics store," Morgan pointed out.

"You can?" Yarborough asked.

"Yeah, they don't cost that much. He probably sat right out here and heard everything she said."

"But if he followed her here from Dallas, why wait 'til she calls us to move on her?"

"To make sure it was the police who found the mask," I said. Yarborough gave me a strange look.

"We need to gather your men and give a profile," Hotch told him. And with that, we went our separate ways—us profilers to the SUVS and Yarborough to his men.

* * *

"He's a white male," I started, staring at the group of policemen. "His shoeprints have been examined and put him at about five-eleven and one-sixty-five."

"So, we narrowed it down to anyone of average weight and height?" Yarborough…not exactly "sassed", but I can't think of a better word…

"Exactly," Morgan said, walking up beside me.

"There's a sophistication and patience in what this unsub does that suggests a level of maturity. We believe this puts his age in the mid-thirties to forties range," Emily added.

"Michelle Colucci was taken from the primary crime scene and disposed of at the tertiary crime scene four days later. That means she was held somewhere for at least three days. You can't really just hold a victim anywhere for days on end, so he most like has access to a house of some kind," Reid told them.

"And he's also fairly tech-savvy," Morgan interjected. "The flyers were made on a computer. And it's probable that he used a device to intercept Enid's phone call."

"Witnesses in Enid White's neighborhood say they may have seen a white man putting up flyers, but none of them could describe him. Even with all the media attention this case has received," Hotch supplemented.

"Great," said a handsome, albeit sarcastic, black man named Detective Bowie.

"Actually, what that tells us is that there is absolutely nothing remarkable about this man," I said. "He is _exceedingly_ average."

"As she said, Detective Yarborough," Morgan began, "average height and average build."

"I-It extends to his professional life as well. H-He most likely works in a field where he doesn't stand out. Doesn't really make a mark," Reid elaborated.

"His lack of distinction is part of his psychopathy," Hotch continued. "We have hundreds of interactions with people every day. Most of those involve someone overlooking someone else. Most of us don't…pay any attention to being ignored, but to this kind of unsub…each oversight is intentional. Especially when it comes from the object of his sexual desire. He begins to obsess over her until she is all he can think about. And the rage builds until he has to attack that person."

"So he's pissed off that nobody notices him?" Yarborough asked.

"'Have you seen me?'" I said.

"Wait—that's not about the women?" Bowie asked.

"No," Emily shook her head. "The masks are about the women; number one, number two. The flyers probably refer to him."

"Removing his victims' faces, uh, i-it transfers his feelings of being ignored into a mission and it gives him, uh, a sense of power," Reid explained.

"And the power can make him arrogant," Hotch said. "But it doesn't make him notable."

"So, how the hell do we catch an invisible man?" Yarborough asked.

"I'm pretty sure we can get him to contact you," Hotch told him.

"What?"

"The crime scenes show he wants to deliver his message to the police. He isn't going public," Emily explained.

"Hopefully by playing on his anger…" Hotch trailed off, looking up at the screen. I followed his gaze and saw the news reporting the case, a picture of the false face mask in the top right corner. "JJ…how'd they get that?"

"Not from _me_, I—Hotch, I called all the local police departments and I _stressed_ withholding the mask."

"I called 'em."

I whipped my head around and saw Rossi standing there with his notebook.

"What?" Hotch asked.

"I said the FBI thinks the masks mean he's impotent," Rossi elucidated.

"May I speak to you for a second?" Hotch said, trying to maintain his composure as he walked across the room.

"I can't believe that just happened…" Emily said, her jaw still dropped.

Just then, one of Morgan's cell phones started ringing. "Hey, baby girl, what's up?"

* * *

"Garcia—talk to us," Morgan said as we sat at a table together (well, Rossi was staring at the bulletin board and being antisocial). Our tech analyst was on speaker phone.

"_Michelle Colucci recently drew up the plans for a remodel of three floors of a company called Techco Communications. It's a high-tech communications company in downtown Dallas_," she said.

"And Enid White?" Hotch asked.

"_Worked there until two months ago_."

Yarborough walked in. "He's on two."

"The unsub?" Hotch asked.

"Demanded to speak to the FBI."

Rossi turned and started paying us attention. After a few moments, he leaned forward and pressed a button on the phone in front of Morgan. "This is FBI, Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi."

"_…You called me impotent?_" murmured a nervous voice.

"Did I?"

"_…I'm not…impotent!_"

"Why are you whispering?"

"_You lied. You lied!_"

"Is someone around you?" Rossi asked. "Are you at work?"

"_You have to tell the news the truth_."

"I'll get you on the news and you can correct me yourself."

"_No,_ you, you, you _correct it!_"

"By the way, I was, um, looking at the police security tapes for the day Michelle Colucci went missing…"

"_…What?_"

"You watched her long enough to know she didn't have visitors. She was a loner. Yet you knew that Detective Yarborough was coming over. You must have been…right here in this station," Rossi sat down next to me, "when he told her. Now, your face is gonna be on one of those tapes…and when I find it, I'm gonna paper this city with it. Just like you did with those women." I could tell he was getting pissed and I was afraid of what he would do. "Everyone will see it. They won't be able to ignore you now. But you won't inspire fear. You'll inspire…hatred. And ridicule. Because the only power someone like you has is a mask." I noticed Hotch putting his hand up to stop Rossi, but it was ignored. "And once that mask is removed, you'll be as insignificant as you've always been—a loser!" Rossi sat back in his chair. I gaped at him and waited for the unsub's response.

"_You just signed…Enid White's death warrant._"

There was the sound of paper crumpling and being thrown right before the beeping that signified that he hung up the phone.

* * *

"Lieutenant, I need you to lock the Techco building down tight. Nobody in, nobody out—it's vital," Hotch said into his cell phone.

"Rossi," Morgan said, turning around in his seat to talk to the man sitting next to me, "you really think the unsub's still gonna be there after that call?"

"Of course. He thinks he has all the time in the world," the seasoned man replied.

"Do you think they got an image off the police security camera yet?" Hotch asked.

"The security camera doesn't work, I lied about that."

"…You _lied_ about that?"

"He doesn't know."

Hotch looked back for a moment, then kept his eyes on the road, as he was driving. "Dave, that was incredibly reckless."

"Hotch, he didn't weigh the body down well."

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't want Michelle found so quickly. He screwed that up. This kind of guy, when he plans something, if he has…the time, if he's in control, he's meticulous. But being on the edge of the river, out in the open, he was not in control. He was in a hurry. And he made a mistake."

"That's what you're hoping," Morgan had an incredulous look on his face.

"Trust me," Rossi said to him. "With an unsub like this, we need to throw him off his game. His hand needs to be forced."

"I know that, Dave, but the point is, you did by forcing ours," Hotch said, turning his head once more.

Fortunately, the silence that blanketed us only lasted a few minutes. We arrived at Techco Communications lickety-split and entered the big glass doors after meeting up with Reid and Emily.

"Is the building sealed?" Hotch asked the lieutenant.

"Top to bottom," he replied.

"Yarborough, uh, make sure it stays that way," Hotch said to the Carrollton detective. As we stopped walking in the throng of confused workers, he pulled out his cell phone. "Garcia, which floors did Michelle Colucci remodel? … Got it—seven, eight, nine. Morgan and McCarthy, take seven…"

I stopped paying attention because I had a strange feeling in my gut. I looked around trying to get a read off the faces of the workers. Suddenly, Morgan grabbed my elbow and I turned to look at him.

"He's down here. I can feel it," I said, aware that Hotch was staring right at me.

"Morgan, go by yourself," he said.

Derek looked at me one last time, took a few steps backwards, and then turned around to go to the elevator.

"Good call," Rossi said. I looked at him, but he was now scanning the crowded lobby. "I can feel it too."

"Display your credentials," Hotch said calmly, trying to seem inconspicuous. I obeyed him, taking my badge out of my pocket. "FBI." I pretended to scratch an itch on my neck with it, before putting it back in my pocket. If I had been wearing a suit jacket like the two men, I would've put the badge in the breast pocket, also like the two men.

"He thinks we know what he looks like," Rossi reminded him.

I flashed my eyes from a black woman, to a blonde one, to two younger men standing side by side. Beside me, Hotch pulled out the Enid White flyer and pretended to examine it. I looked it just before Rossi took it from his hands, still looking at the people in the crowd.

We passed the flyer back and forth, trying to get the unsub's attention. And at one point when Rossi had it, I noticed movement in the crowd.

"There," I murmured, trying to point to the man who was walking toward the elevators.

Subtly, the three of us edged our way over. And as soon as we saw the squirrelly little man try to fake us out, we went our separate ways. I watched as the man strode down the hallway toward the elevator. Immediately, I reached for my gun.

"Sir," Rossi said, coming up behind me. The man didn't stop.

"Sir," I repeated a little louder. Still nothing. I held up my gun and cocked it.

"Max Pool," said Hotch, standing on the other side of me. The man stopped. "We have your address, Max, there's no place to go."

"This is Agent Rossi, Max. If you do what you're thinking, you won't get to tell them I lied."

"C'mon Max. Slowly put your hands on top of your head," Rossi continued.

"Listen to him, Max."

"I know what you're thinking and you don't have to do it—it doesn't have to end here, Max. _Please_."

I saw one of Pool's hands reach into his jacket and feared for the worst. And just then, the elevator door opened. I almost gasped when Morgan started walking out of it. Just then, Pool turned around, wielding a gun. I aimed my gun at Pool and curled my finger around the trigger.

"DOWN!" Hotch yelled.

Morgan ducked and I shot just as Pool aimed his own gun at Rossi. Morgan rolled over and pulled out _his_ gun and shot the unsub as he fell to the ground. Once the smoke cleared, Hotch hurried over to the man, pushing the gun away and checking his unresponsive pulse

"You okay?" Hotch asked Morgan.

"Yeah," he said.

"He's gone," Hotch reported.

"What about Enid White?" Yarborough asked from behind me as I put my gun away.

"We have his home address."

"Is she there?"

"Let's hope so," Hotch stood up and we followed him out to the cars.

* * *

I stood with Rossi and Hotch outside of Max Pool's house. Enid White had just been wheeled into an ambulance. Morgan, Reid, and Emily were handing candy to the young trick-or-treaters. Call me crazy, but after shooting a guy—unsub or _not_—I wasn't really in the mood to be happy around children.

I know, it's my job, but I don't really shoot much. I have an extremely sensitive guilty-conscience. And shooting people makes me feel bad and cranky and in need of reassurance.

"You did well today," Hotch told me, patting my arm and heading for the SUV behind us. I followed him and Rossi and got into the backseat, ready to go back to Quantico.


	3. Identity

** "A popular theory** among leading astrophysicists estimates that the hyper-matter reactor would need about 10³² Joules of energy to destroy a planet the size of Earth. Now, Lucas said it took 19 years to build the first Death Star, right? But, well, if you look at the new essential chronology, there's a test-bed prototype for Superlaser that's been—where're you going?"

"Taking back the last five minutes of my life."

I snorted, shaking my head. Reid and his naiveté made me happy, as did Morgan and his frustration.

"You can't go in there."

I looked up from my desk and saw Morgan heading for Rossi's new office.

"Don't you wanna know about this guy?"

"_I_ do," Emily said, getting up.

"Same," I said, mimicking her. We followed Reid as he went over to Morgan.

"I've got it all memorized—his books, his bio…" Reid trailed off.

"Yeah, his books have sold over a million copies," Morgan said, climbing the stairs.

Reid stopped, so Emily and I passed him. "So?"

"That's a million reasons _not_ to come back, if you know what I'm saying," Morgan rubbed his fore and middle fingers against his thumb.

The three of us walked into the office to find it nearly empty, aside from a desk covered in white tarp. Morgan held his arms out in a W-shape.

"Huh," Emily said, looking around. "Taupe walls. It's a negative color." Reid found his way to the doorframe. "Cold. Distant. You know, emotionally, taupe is linked to loneliness _and_ a desire to escape from the world."

"I just figured the guy's walls would be covered with plaques and commendations," I said, dipping my fingers into my pockets.

"Eh, maybe he doesn't wanna be reminded of past victories? It's a new chapter for him?"

"Whatever happened to the moratorium on inter-team profiling, guys?" Reid said, finally venturing a step in.

"Come on, Reid. Team? I don't think this guy knows the meaning of the word," Morgan said, pulling out a small painting from under the tarp.

"Hey—I'm sure things were different back when the BAU first started," I said, coming to the defense of the old/new teammate. "Give him some time to adjust."

"Oh, I found something," Morgan said, ignoring my spiel. "Looks like some type of religious art."

"Hmm," Emily said, looking at it.

"Original, maybe?"

Reid came over and examined the painting.

"Definitely expensive."

"It's Renaissance art," Reid said, admiring it. "If that's original…"

"Is it?" I asked, kinda curious myself.

"Dunno. It's kinda hard to tell," Reid held it a little flatter, and then turned it over for a second. "Means he's into the classics."

"What else?" Morgan asked.

"Uhhh…Italian. Strict Catholic upbringing. Probably believes in redemption."

"Oh, I believe in a lot of things," Rossi said, scaring the shit out of all of us. I wondered how long he had been out there and whether or not he heard me standing up for him. "Catholic? Yes. Italian-American, fifty-two years. Strict upbringing? Not so much. Now, the artwork—" he got closer, "that's fifteenth century. Original. Cost more than my first house. And as for the wall color…it's just a base coat. Painters will come in and finish tomorrow. Now, if you're all finished, I think, uh, JJ and Hotch are ready for us," he said, leaning over to look at Morgan. "Isn't that how a team works?

The other three walked out: ashamed, determined, and embarrassed. I hesitated, staring at him as he smiled.

"Yes, McCarthy?" he asked once they left.

"You…you seem…" I didn't know how to properly speak anymore. And it didn't help that I could see him reading my face like a book. "More approachable."

"Were you intimidated by me?" he asked, raising a charcoal eyebrow.

"Li'l bit," I held my finger and thumb apart by an inch.

"I want you to think of me as an equal, Hunter, right?"

"Right," I nodded. "But that's kind of hard…considering you created—"

"Hunter…that's traditionally a boy's name?" Rossi interrupted.

"I-I guess," I said, taken aback.

He nodded. "It works on you."

* * *

"Great Falls, Montana," JJ said in the bullpen. I was listening from the hallway, almost reaching the door. "Over the past fourteen months, three women have been reported missing." Rossi and I walked through the doorway, past Morgan, who was getting himself some coffee. Displayed on the screen behind JJ were four brunette women. "Michelle Lawford, Jennifer Hillbridge, and Darcy Cranwell," she said as we sat down together. "All young, Caucasian brunettes. After an extensive search, all were presumed dead by the local authorities."

"So, at least we know he has a type," Emily said.

"And now there's a fourth woman—Angela Miller," JJ pressed a button on her clicker and two more pictures came up. One was a headshot of the woman; another was a photo of her and her family. "This morning, she and her car went missing from a small grocery store…while her husband and son were inside."

"This morning?" Reid seemed surprised.

"_Montana_'s requesting our help?" Rossi had the exact same tone.

"Forty minutes later, state troopers spotted Angela Miller's car on the highway," JJ continued, sitting down.

"And when troopers tried to apprehend the driver, he blew himself up with a grenade," Hotch supplied. "Putting one of the troopers in the ICU."

"Are they sure she wasn't in the car with him?" I asked.

"They went through the wreckage and it appears she's still missing," JJ answered.

"Troopers get a look at the guy?" Morgan asked.

"Caucasian…stocky, brown hair, mustache, early forties," she said as he sat down at the table. "He has a scar on the left side of his face."

"Do you think Angela Miller's still alive?"

"Since the other missings were never found, we don't know, but he only had her for forty minutes, so we have to assume she is," Hotch responded.

Morgan looked over at Rossi, who turned his gaze onto the picture of Angela Miller right in front of him.

* * *

"You know, I could've gotten you a coloring book at the airport," Emily said to Reid, who was coloring a map, I think.

Reid started talking about topographical maps and I shook my head, not even attempting to listen. I looked up from my case file, over at Rossi, who sat in the swiveling chair across the way from me. The older man furrowed his brow and I smirked.

"Yeah," Emily said, being facetious, "that's exactly what I thought you were doing."

"It's called a jeopardy surface," Hotch said, stirring his tea. "It's a way of narrowing down where the unsub could reside."

"And by default, where he might be stashing Angela Miller," Reid continued drawing.

"You know, it says here the guy had a fully-loaded gun, so we know he had options. Why the grenade?" Morgan asked.

"He wants to be remembered," Rossi said. "And he wanted to be sure to take as many cops with him as possible. He knows he's outgunned. So he waits. Times it to the last second. _Boom._ There are some very committed people in those parts."

"Love their firepower," Hotch muttered.

"Almost as much as they hate us," Rossi said bitterly.

"Damn militias," I rolled my eyes.

"And they're heavily armed," Reid never took his eyes off the map.

"Yeah, but, uh, _hand-grenades_?" Emily said, folding her arms across her chest.

"I-It's not uncommon for militia members to have military experience. O-Often times they resent the structure and they get discharged and they form their own paramilitary governments."

"Dental records are on their way to Garcia," JJ said. "I'll tell her to check the military first."

"Prentiss and I'll go meet the husband," Hotch said.

"I can walk the other abduction sites with McCarthy," Morgan looked at me and I nodded.

"Everybody else set up base; work on geographical profiles," Hotch ordered. "Establish contact with the locals, and tread carefully. They'll be watching us."

* * *

"Okay, thanks JJ," I hung up the phone and turned to Morgan. "Francis Goehring. Ex-military. Built a compound and lead it like in feudal times with serfs and all that jazz."

"That our unsub?" Morgan asked, coming a bit closer.

"No, he's my date for when we get back to Virginia," I said sarcastically. "Yes, he's the unsub. Reid and Rossi found his manifesto in the form of tapes. We need to go to the police department."

As soon as we got back, we were ordered to go back _out_, only this time to a different location. Apparently Goehring's wife showed up and gave us a different address.

Rossi, Hotch, Morgan, and I got out of the SUV and found ourselves on what looked like a ranch. There were police cars and men swarming.

"Sheriff, let me know when they've swept the house for explosives," Hotch said. "In the meantime, check the perimeter, let's find her."

"Tommy—two men on the house," the sheriff ordered.

"Angela!" Rossi shouted from behind me.

"Angela!" Hotch yelled as the sheriff continued spouting out orders. "Angela!"

"Angela Miller!" I hollered, hoping for a response.

"Angela!" Rossi tried again.

"_Hotch_," Morgan got our attention from the little wannabe garden. "_Rossi_. _McCarthy_."

We walked over to him and my breath hitched. At his feet was a shallow grave. And in that grave lay the body of Angela Miller. She was wearing a bloody long-sleeved green shirt and a pair of shorts. Her arms were crossed under her bosom. She had two bullet wounds in her chest.

"I got her," Morgan crouched down and took her pulse, but I feared we were too late. "It's Angela… She's gone." Rossi squatted by her head and put his hand on her neck for some reason. "Two exit wounds, upper torso," Morgan said, touching her shirt.

"I promised her son we'd find her alive," the sheriff said morosely. Rossi, who was still touching the corpse, looked up at him. "What is it?

"She's still warm," Rossi explained.

"Look at the blood," I observed, sitting on my heels between the two men. "It hasn't dried yet. This is recent."

"Very recent," Morgan reiterated.

"How is _that_ possible?" Sheriff asked.

"Goehring didn't do this," Rossi said, looking at me.

"He's got a partner," I said, gazing into his dark eyes.

* * *

"Angela's been dead for no more than half an hour," Hotch said as soon as JJ and Emily got out of the car and met up with us. Morgan was reading a map propped up on the hood of a car. "The partner was just here."

"He can't have gotten far," Sheriff said. "We'll set up roadblocks within a forty mile radius."

"Sheriff, somebody around here must know who Goehring's partner is."

"You should try Goehring's pals, the militia," Rossi suggested. "Maybe they can help."

"The Militia leader's Harris Townsend. He owns a bar called the Horse Post," Sheriff told us.

"I'd suggest sending Morgan."

"_What_?" Morgan asked incredulously. "All due respect, Rossi, But you got an entire team to pick from. You're choosing me? You serious?"

"No offense, but…you really wanna do that?" Sheriff asked.

"Take Hunter with you," Hotch said.

I wasn't used to being called by my first name when on a case, so it took me a second. "Really?"

"They know we're here," Rossi explained. "But you're the last face they expect."

Morgan seemed to contemplate it for a second. "Let's do it, Hunter."

Again—completely blindsided by the use of my first name.

I followed Morgan to an SUV and got into the front seat. He climbed into the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition. And as we pulled out, Morgan started talking to me.

"So, about our last case…"

"Yeah?" I said, Michelle Colucci's faceless corpse brought to the front of my mind

"Did I ever thank you for saving my life?" Morgan said, looking at me.

"…No," I shook my head. "But you don't—"

"Thank you for saving my life, then," he interrupted.

"No problem," I said, trying to smile, even though the shooting put me in a crappy mood.

Soon enough, we arrived at the Horse Post. We walked through the mass of pickup trucks and just as we were about to walk into the bar, Morgan started talking to me again.

"Listen, I want to repay you—"

"Morgan, it's not a big deal," I raised my eyebrows.

"So, I want you to stay behind me. I don't trust those men—especially with what you're wearing today," Morgan said. Even though he was wearing sunglasses, I'm pretty sure he was checking me out. I mean, I guess I did look nice… I was wearing a pair of tight blue jeans with a black v-neck t-shirt and my Converse.

"Look, I appreciate it, but you don't have to do this," I implored, dodging a side-view mirror.

"I want to."

Those three words made me stop. I turned and looked at Morgan. "What?"

"I like you, Hunter. I want to protect you."

"We don't need to talk about this right now," I said, unsure of what he meant by "like".

He nodded and passed me. I followed him up to the wooden porch, past a man with a blue flannel shirt who gave us a weird look. I could feel his eyes on me, but decided to ignore it. Morgan hesitated before walking in.

Everything got a bit quieter as we walked in. I observed the plaid and flannel-clad men, a woman with a mullet, the immense stench of B.O. and disgust. I hated to say it, but I felt a lot safer standing slightly behind Muscley Morgan.

He took his sunglasses off, as the bar was dark inside, and we both pulled out our badges. "We're looking for Harris Townsend."

There was a pause and a man wearing a striped short-sleeved shirt spoke up. "Put your badge away." His voice was raspy and accented. "We know who ya are."

"We're only here to talk to Harris Townsend," Morgan said as we followed the man's order. "We heard he runs this bar."

"I do," said the man. "Talkin' isn't exactly what you boys are known for."

"We're investigating a missing woman—"

"Bobby," he interrupted me with a sigh as he got up, "be a gentleman. Pull up a chair for the little lady." Harris walked farther away.

"I'd prefer to stay standing," I responded quickly.

"I'd prefer it if you both left my bar," he said, standing next to the woman with the mullet. He took a rag and started to wipe the bar. "But we have manners."

I rolled my eyes. There was no winning with this man.

"Glock 17," he said, noticing Morgan's gun. "Tactical, but European." Harris slapped his own holster. "Smith & Wesson. Pure American hardware… I wonder which one is more dependable."

Morgan took a few steps forward, his hand on his gun. "I don't wanna be here just as much as you don't want me to be. But we have a job to do."

"I never understood…" Harris started, "how someone like you…could trust 'em."

Morgan sighed. "Someone like me?"

"How has the federal government…ever helped your people? Slavery…ghettos…poverty… The CIA got you all hooked on heroin in the '60s. Crack in the '80s… I hate the government. But you…you should despise 'em. They sure as hell don't care about ya now. There are six other members of your team. Look around you. Why the hell did they send _you_ in here?"

Morgan looked over at me and I shook my head slightly.

"Francis Goehring and a partner abducted and killed_ four_ innocent women. The last of which we just found dead in a bed of roses, shot in the back twice. Nobody sent me anywhere. I came here to do right by _her_. Now, Goehring's partner's out there somewhere, so we completely understand if you boys are just too afraid to tell us about him. I get it. But just say so. Don't go hiding behind your vague, little gun threats and your tired conspiracy theories, please."

Harris started to laugh like he was wheezing, and then sighed, not looking at Morgan. "Goehring was a piece of dung… I don't know who his partner is… I saw him once…in the scope of my rifle. Me and some of the boys around huntin'. Small guy, 'bout…5'8"," Harris got closer to Morgan, now seeming to have a bit of respect for the man. "Following Goehring around like his private pack mule. Hat on, head down… That's it, that's all I know," he swatted a hand and went back to his original seat.

Morgan held up his wallet and went over to him, pulling out his card, and placing it on the table. "Just in case you remember something else." Morgan started walking back towards me. "Take care, boys," he said, absentmindedly slapping the palm of his hand with his wallet.

* * *

Henry Frost. That was the name of the partner. He was in love with Goehring. He filmed the tapes. He planted the roses. That's how we found out who he was, by going to various flower-selling businesses. Apparently, he actually worked at one of them. Hotch, Reid, and Prentiss went to his trailer and found all of his childhood photos in the grill, his face burnt off. And while they were there, we were alerted of a fifth kidnapping at a gas station.

"I could've taken the shot," said the cashier. She was an older woman with curly blonde hair and a feisty attitude. "I was just afraid of hittin' her."

"Did you get a good look at him?" Hotch asked, taking a few steps away from her.

"Yeah, he came in," the cashier said. "Big-ass bandage on the left side of his face. Bought a beer and pumpkin seeds and went back to his truck and sat there."

"Was that his truck?" the sheriff asked, pointing to the tan vehicle just sitting in the parking lot behind us.

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"That was their MO," Rossi said, walking forward. "Frost chauffeured Goehring around. Goehring picks the victim, abducts her on foot. They drive off in separate vehicles."

"But this time, Frost had to play both roles and he got sloppy and he left a witness and his car," Hotch said.

"Can you confirm that that's the guy you saw?" I stepped forward, holding a picture JJ had gotten from Frost's workplace.

The woman looked at the picture, then back up at us, "No." Then she invited us inside the store, got behind the desk, and spun her security monitor around to show us part of the tape. "That's him." On the screen stood a man who looked just like…

"Goehring," I whispered. "He looks like Goehring."

"Or Frost's version of him," Rossi said.

Soon enough, we were outside again, standing by the gas tanks.

"Okay, you're Goehring," he said to Hotch, pacing back and forth. "Sadistic bastard. I'm Frost, a submissive, troubled, gay man. I need you to dominate me because it gives me direction and a purpose in life."

"And life is good, and then one day I pull the pin on a grenade," Hotch said.

"You die. And when I lose you, I begin to lose my identity because my sense of self was tied to you."

"You're showing classic signs of depersonalization disorder, precipitated by the stressor of losing a loved one."

"Now all that's left is me…"

"And you hate yourself."

"I do. Why?"

"Because I've brainwashed you with all my rules. I've told you over and over how weak you are; how you're nothing without me."

"Right…so I go back to my home and annihilate everything I own, every reminder of who I am. I erase myself and become you."

"Because it's the only way that you can survive. The only way that you can hold onto me."

"Frost transforms himself into Goehring and goes back to abducting women because that's what Goehring would do," I added, piecing it all together in my head.

"We need to stop thinking like Frost and start thinking like Goehring 'cause he's still calling the shots," Hotch said.

* * *

"Sheriff, he's taken on Goehring's persona," Hotch said as soon as we came into the department room with all of our team in it. Rossi held the door open and allowed me in first. "We have to assume he's gonna behave the same way. He's heavily armed and he's committed to his cause."

"If he's caught, he's not only willing to die, but to take as many of us with him as possible," Rossi said, going over to them. I just stood next to Emily, who was reading a book about the Spanish Inquisition.

_Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!_ There goes my brain, flashing back to things that aren't appropriate for the situation at hand…like Monty Python sketches…

"And he's got a hostage, which means I'm gonna need the best sharpshooter you've got, Hotch said.

"…That's fine, but we don't even know where this guy's headed," the Sheriff said skeptically.

"The team's been working the profile. We think we've got something."

"In the tapes, Goehring makes several mentions of ideal land," Emily supplied.

"Uh, he also said that lords lived on higher ground to better survey the land and spot invaders," Reid said.

"He studied medieval defense strategies, so he'll probably go to a place where he can protect himself," Morgan held open a book and brandished it.

"High ground, easily defendable," Emily said, going over to the bulletin board. "This picture," she untacked one of them, "was on Goehring's fridge." She handed it to the sheriff. "Do you know where that is?"

I peeked and saw that it was a picture of Goehring standing by some sort of landform, holding a gun. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt and denim bellbottoms.

"That's Black Eagle Peak," the sheriff told us. "Militia groups used to use it for training drills 'til the state stopped them."

Reid grabbed his map and handed it to him. The sheriff pointed to the location.

"Ideal land," Hotch said to Emily, taking the photo.

* * *

We drove out to Black Eagle Peak. Up on top, we could see two people.

"My guy's got eyes on him. He's on the very top of the peak, on the far side of that ridge," the sheriff said as we all got out of the SUV. "He'll see us coming."

"He already knows if he's using that police scanner," Emily said.

"Well, we gotta find a way to get up there," Morgan said.

"We'll never be able to get close enough," I bit my lip.

"How's it going with the sharpshooter?" Rossi asked.

"Who's that?" Hotch was looking over our heads, so we all turned around to see Harris Townsend getting out of the sheriff's car.

"Oh, you can't be serious," Morgan looked at the sheriff.

"You asked for the best. He's it," the sheriff explained. "Ex-special forces sniper."

"He's a civilian," Rossi said.

"He's militia," Morgan threw in.

"I deputized him," the sheriff said. "He knows the terrain like nobody else."

"Wind in this valley'll change the trajectory of a shot by inches," Harris said, standing in our circle. "Can't read the wind, wrong person might get shot." He looked over at Morgan. "I guess I don't need to remind you gentlemen of that."

"We can handle this," Morgan told him.

"Good luck with that."

"Hey, it might not come down to it if we don't get moving," Rossi interjected. "I'll go with him."

"You wanna flank around the west side of the mountain?" Sheriff asked Harris.

"Now, if he's on the North, I'll get a better view from the east ridge; steeper, higher ground; get a clear shot from there," he replied.

"If you see the shot, call in," Hotch said to Rossi, handing him a walkie-talkie.

"Good," Rossi said.

"Channel twenty-three, keep it open. McCarthy and I'll go with the sheriff. We'll stay at the base and try to distract him. Go up through the northeast and through the middle," he told Morgan and Emily. "Keep your head down."

I climbed into the sheriff's truck, having to sit in the tiny middle seat up front. Hotch gave me the walkie-talkie and grabbed onto a foghorn. The sheriff drove us to the base of the mountain and we got out in a hurry.

"Francis Goehring!" Hotch said into the foghorn. "Channel two!" Then he looked at me and I readied the talkie.

"All we wanna do is talk to you," I said calmly. "Let me know that you can hear me."

"Yeah! I can hear you!" Frost shouted. "This is my land! Do you understand?! NOT YOURS! And you…will leave! Or she dies!"

Seconds later, I heard Rossi's voice.

"_No shot. We've gotta distract Frost_._ Get him away from Becky._" (She was the missing lady, bee tee dubs.)

"How're we gonna do that?" the sheriff asked.

Hotch looked up at the two on the mountain with his binoculars. "He's not Goehring. He can't do this."

"He shot Angela Miller in the back!"

Hotch ignored him and stepped over to the side with his hands raised. "ALL I WANNA DO IS TALK!"

"You wanna talk?" Frost shouted. "Then go ahead and talk! But you come any closer, and she gets a bullet, ya hear me?! HUH?! She's gonna be the first to go, I swear!"

"We know a lot about you, Henry. We know your name is Henry Frost. We know you're twenty-five years old. We know that your dad kicked you out of the house when you were fifteen. He was a drunk and he abused and abandoned you. And ever since, your life has been a series of jails and institutions…and it's been hell," I said into the walkie-talkie.

"SHUT UP!" Frost hollered. "NO!"

"Here, let me see it," Hotch said, taking the device from me. "Henry, just let the girl go, and I'll clear everybody out, and you and I can just talk. That's a promise. It doesn't have to end like this."

"Yes, it does! YES, IT DOES! And it will!"

"Henry, let her go. HENRY, LET HER GO!"

_CRACK!_

Henry fell to the ground. I could faintly hear the sound of Becky crying. Hotch signaled to someone and everything was quiet.


	4. Lucky

** "Bridgewater, Florida. Local** girl Abby Kelton, nineteen, left her parents' home to go to the local junior college," JJ said, walking around Rossi and me. On the screen were two pictures—one of the pretty blonde girl's license… The other of her corpse. Her neck appeared to have been slit and her fingers cut off. "She never came home. Three days later, joggers found her…_part_ of her," a new picture popped up, showing that just her top half remained, "in a nearby park."

"What did _that_ to her?" Emily asked in disgust.

"Bridgewater's off of I-75, which is often referred to as Alligator Alley…for reasons that are now apparent," JJ explained.

_But what if that wasn't from an alligator…_ I wondered morbidly.

"Everything below the waist had been eaten," JJ continued.

"Ah, the circle of life," Rossi commented. I wrinkled my nose at him.

"Suddenly, I don't feel so guilty about my alligator wallet," Emily said.

"Alligators didn't cut off her fingers, slit her throat, or…carve this into her chest," Hotch slid a few pictures across the table to Morgan's waiting fingers.

"An inverted pentagram," he said.

"Locals believe the killing was committed by a satanic cult," JJ said.

"Of course," I rolled my eyes.

"Some things never change," Rossi sighed.

"Killer satanic cults don't exist," Emily pointed out. "They were debunked as a suburban myth." Rossi nodded and Emily's face fell. "What?"

"Rossi's the one that debunked them," Reid pointed out.

"Awkward," I sang, staring at the ceiling.

"Oh, right," Emily said in a soft voice. "Thanks…"

"Cult or not," Rossi turned in his seat, "the killing was ritualized. This will turn serial if it hasn't already."

"So, killer satanic cults don't exist, but…satanic serial killers do?" JJ asked.

Rossi got up and said something in a foreign language, smacking the table with his case file. I raised my eyebrows at him and watched him leave the room.

"Oh, thanks for clearin' that up," JJ said sarcastically.

"Uh, it's from Dante's_ Inferno_. 'A-Abandon hope all ye who enter here'," Reid translated.

"So, that was a yes."

"A big yes," Hotch added.

* * *

"Are. You. Kidding. Me?"

I just smirked at Emily, who threw down her cards. We were sitting on the bench, playing Phase 10 again and I just went out on the last phase while she was stuck on number five.

"I seriously hate playing this game with you," she pouted, sitting back with her arms folded.

"What are you playing?" Rossi asked from his swiveling chair.

"We _were_ playing Phase 10," Emily said.

"Hmm…"

"You ever play?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Never even heard of it."

"It sucks," Emily frowned.

"I love playing it," I grinned. "I can teach you on the way back, if you want."

"I might take you up on that offer," Rossi nodded, giving me a smile.

I could feel someone's eyes on me, so I turned and saw Hotch, who was sitting with JJ, Reid, and Morgan, give me a look. Pursing my lips in embarrassment, I collected the cards and put them away lickety-split.

* * *

"We never found any evidence of a killer satanic cult," Rossi said. "In reality, there are only two types of…_violent_ satanic criminals."

"Uh, type one: teen Satanists, assume the satanic identity to rebel," Reid supplied. "Minor crimes, thefts and vandalism to churches, schools, symbols of authority. When combined with drugs and alcohol, they may turn violent."

"Yes," Rossi nodded, speaking slowly, "in extreme cases, deadly. That was outta my book, word-for-word."

"Oh, trust us," Morgan added, "we know."

"Uh, killings are accidental, usually resulting from their hobby getting out of control. Killings won't turn serial—"

"Hey, Reid," Morgan interrupted. He cocked his head toward Rossi and made a cutting motion across his neck.

Reid looked at the older agent, who appeared to be examining the young one. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Okay, so, that's one type," Emily said, looking at Rossi. "What's type two?"

"The adaptive Satanist is the one you have to worry about," he said. "The typical serial killer, rationalizing his fantasies by blaming them on outside forces."

"Like Satan," I nodded, pressing my lips together firmly.

"You really don't seem to like the idea of satanic serial killers," Rossi pointed out.

I shook my head. "Call me Jason Gideon, but I don't like people blaming their religion for the crimes they commit."

Rossi nodded. "Anyway, type two adapts satanic beliefs to fit his specific homicidal drives. He doesn't kill because he believes in Satan. He believes in Satan…because he kills."

"Now, let's hope it's the teenagers. Whether you're religious or not, the presence of satanic elements can affect even the most experienced investigators," Hotch said. "And we're not immune, so, keep an eye on the locals and keep an eye on each other."

"Eh, I hear ya," JJ said weakly. "I saw The Exorcist."

"My mother took us to church every Sunday until I moved out. This whole 'devil' thing doesn't spook me at all," Morgan said, looking at his case file.

"Maybe that's because you never truly bought the God part either," Reid said.

Can you spell "awkward silence"…?

"No offense, kid, but you don't know what I believe," Morgan said.

"A-All I mean—logic dictates that if you…believe in the one, you have to…reconcile the existence of the other," Reid replied.

"Peoples' reactions to Satan is what gives it appeal to these offenders," Hotch added. "It has power. And it would be a mistake to underestimate it."

* * *

Rossi, JJ, Morgan, and I were in one of the SUVs, driving to a church where we would meet the Keltons. Meanwhile, Hotch, Reid, and Emily were at the morgue, looking at her body.

"Hey, McCarthy," Morgan said, staring me through the rearview mirror. I made eye-contact and he continued. "I never really found out what your religious beliefs are."

"Isn't that one of those things you're not really supposed to discuss?" I quirked a brow. But I knew Morgan—he was relentless. "I don't really have any. I mean, religion wasn't forced upon me. My parents were both raised Catholic, but we never went to church. I just…I'd _like_ to believe in God, but sometimes… I dunno. I'm skeptical, I guess."

"Fair enough," Morgan nodded.

Fortunately, we pulled in front of the church and got out. I walked in step with Rossi and noticed that I could smell his cologne. He really smelled like an Italian man. It was nice…

"Rossi," Morgan stopped us all. "Do me a favor—you'll talk to the priest, alright?"

"You'd rather interview the grieving parents on the worst day of their lives than the priest?" Rossi asked.

Morgan looked around. "If it's alright with you, yeah."

Rossi looked at him and gave a slight nod of the head before continuing to the church. I followed and looked back to see Morgan hesitating. I gulped and gave him a weak smile before turning around and walking up to the church.

Eventually, Morgan caught up. I knew this because he held the door open for me. And as we walked in, a bald African-American man with a mustache walked down the wooden stairs to meet us.

"Good afternoon," he said, grasping everyone's attention.

"Hi Father Marks," JJ said, shaking his hand. "Agent Jareau. These are Agents Rossi, Morgan, and McCarthy."

Father Marks shook each of our hands. "Yeah, it's good of you to come," he said.

"We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances, Father," Rossi looked right at Morgan.

"Abby's parents, Bob and Lee-Ann, are in my office. We were…discussing her service."

"Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you," Rossi nodded. Morgan looked like he was about to protest, but decided against it.

"Well, uh, they're upstairs, first door on the right. And they're expecting you," Father Marks nodded to us.

The three of us went up the stairs and I chewed on my lip, uncertain of why Rossi just did that. But I didn't have much time to mull it over, as the office was closer than I expected. Rossi held the door open for the two of us and I nodded my thanks. Inside were the Keltons. Lee-Ann wasn't looking at us…or anything in particular, for that matter. She wasn't crying. But her husband was. He seemed really disturbed, and he SHOULD be, considering what happened to his daughter.

"We're so sorry for your loss," JJ said, picking up a stack of old photographs from Father Marks' desk.

"They say we couldn't have an open casket, so we need to choose a picture. I didn't know which one to use, so I brought them all," Lee-Ann said.

"She's beautiful," I said, looking at some of them over JJ's shoulder.

"Her first steps?" Rossi asked. JJ leaned the picture forward so she could confirm it.

"Oh…Bob took that—thank God, I would've missed it," Lee-Ann laughed weakly. I applauded her for trying to move on. "I was at a church retreat for the weekend."

Rossi took the picture and sat on the desk. "Pretty young to be walking," he remarked, smiling at Lee-Ann.

"Nine months," she said proudly. "Youngest girl in the whole neighborhood to walk. First to swim, too. That's Abby…"

"When's her birthday?" he asked.

"Uh, July 28th."

"Leo. Headstrong, popular, generous, center of attention… Am I right?"

"To a T. That's Abby. She was only seventeen when she graduated. She's studying to be a nurse."

I realized that the mother wasn't trying to move on. Quite the opposite. She was in denial. And it was killing her husband.

"Was," he choked out.

Lee-Ann looked at Bob. "What's that dear?"

"She _was_ studying to be a nurse."

Lee-Ann's face fell and she got up to leave the room. JJ looked at Rossi and followed her out. I wasn't sure what to do, so I just stayed where I was. Rossi didn't tell me to leave, so I figured I was okay.

"I, uh," Bob cleared his throat, "I made the identification." Slowly, Rossi got up and took Lee-Ann's seat. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. This was so sad. "There was a sheet over her. Doc pulled it down just enough to see her face. But…I could tell…I could…s-s-see from the way the sheet laid over her body that…that something wasn't right. Detective Jordan won't tell me the details, he says I don't need to know… And Doc says I don't need to see… This is Abby… This is my s-sweet Abby… I trust Doc and I trust Detective Jordan…but you're from the FBI, and if you tell me that I don't…I don't need to see or I don't need to know…I'll believe you."

Rossi seemed to be thinking of the proper way to respond. I stepped forward, taking a few photographs from the desk.

"Trust us, Mr. Kelton," I said, crouching down in front of him. "These are the memories you wanna keep."

Bob started crying even more. I looked at Rossi and he gestured to the door with his head.

* * *

"There's no evidence that any of the local kids were into devil worship or the occult," Morgan said, holding a glass of water. Emily, Rossi, and I were sitting a table covered in crime scene photographs. We had just been filled in that the unsub fed Abby _her fingers_ before she died.

"This is definitely _not_ a group of teenagers," I said, closing my case file.

"It's a serial killing," Morgan said, nearly cutting me off.

"I know," I muttered, _almost_ asking what crawled up into his—

"And considering what he did with her fingers, a sadistic one," Emily interrupted my thoughts.

"That I wouldn't say just yet," Rossi pointed at her.

"He cut off her fingers and he made her eat them. If that isn't sadistic…"

"If it was, that's the only sign of sadism present in the crime."

Emily nodded. "If he was purely a sadist, there would've have been more signs of torture."

"The fingers are a message."

"What the hell is the message?" Morgan asked as Hotch walked in.

"She's not my first," he said from the perspective of the unsub.

Then it registered in my mind what he said… We all looked at him.

"None of the fingers found in Abby Kelton's stomach were _hers_."

My jaw dropped. That was disgusting.

"And six of them were index fingers."

_Gross._

* * *

"Abby Kelton and ten others, murdered by a serial killer here in Bridgewater," Hotch said to Detective Jordan (a man with a fondness for cigars and Hawaiian shirts) and the police force.

"_Here_?" Jordan asked. "How can you be sure?"

"These marks represent where the first ten disappeared," Hotch referred to the big-ass bulletin board. On it was a map of Florida with a picture of Abby and a bunch of red tacks and lines. "The void in the center is his safety zone. He avoids killing near his home to escape detection. And the void's center is Bridgewater."

"Why would he violate his safety zone?" Jordan asked, taking out his unlit cigar. "No one knew he existed."

"_Because_ no one knew he existed," I answered from right next to Rossi.

"That's why he left us the fingers," Rossi added.

"If he wants us to know, does he want us to catch him?" Jordan asked.

"No. Killing gives him power. Our knowing gives him more. He won't stop. He's just getting started."

Jordan got a phone call at that exact moment. He took out his phone and answered it. "Detective Jordan … Yeah … Yeah, I got it." He hung up and looked at Rossi. "You were right. He's just getting started."

A young lady named Tracey Lambert went missing from a bathroom stop on a trail. We all went out to the trail in search of some clues. Rossi and I got to sweep the bathroom.

"So, yesterday afternoon, Tracey Lambert told her roommate she was going for a hike," I told Rossi.

"He was waiting for her," he said, going over to the very stall she tried to hide in.

"Mmm…Blitz attack. Probably like Abby Kelton's at the gas station."

Rossi opened the stall door and looked inside. "Our, um…unsub was likely in a mental institution," he said.

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

He looked at me. "One…neat…aspect."

I walked over and looked in. On top of the toilet seat were Tracey's books, pressed together in a neat row.

"The severely mentally ill have chaos all around them," he explained. "When institutionalized, they're given order; taught to keep their room's clean and neat. When discharged, they stop taking their meds. Their minds fall back into chaos. But often…they do _one_ thing to keep some order back into it," he pointed at the books.

"'Kay," I nodded, pulling out my phone. "I'll call Garcia. Tell her to check state mental records."

We all stood, watching and helping the volunteers who signed up to search for Tracey Lambert. I could feel someone's eyes on me and noticed the man who was serving what looked like chili to the volunteers. He looked at me as though I was an object or…food or something. I got uncomfortable and turned to make sure Rossi was standing next to me. I felt safe around him.

"Do you think you see something?" Rossi muttered.

"I…no. It was just some creepy guy...creeping me out," I said, trying to ignore my redundancy.

If I could ever redo a moment of my life, then would be one of my options. But I don't want to spoil the story, so I won't tell you what I _wish_ I had done. I'll just say that I probably could've solved the case a _lot_ quicker than we actually did.

The search went on until a man came back screaming about his wife's disappearance. It got dark and we relocated to the police station. Morgan walked over to the coffeemaker, where I was, stirring my own coffee.

"Hey, how's it going with Father Marks?" I asked with a yawn. "Any of the volunteers jump out at him?"

"Not yet," he said, getting his own coffee. "You're exhausted. Put that coffee down and go to sleep. We can handle this tonight."

"That's the issue," I yawned again, covering my mouth with my free hand. "I was up all night thinking about this case. I don't think I'll be able to rest until this bastard is caught." Morgan looked at me and gave me a wistful smile. "What? Is that a bad thing?"

"No," he said, focusing on the coffeemaker. "It just proves how much you care."

My phone rang and I picked it up. "Garcia?"

"_I'm still running the particulars of our homicides through ViCAP. Nothing so far._"

"Okay. Emily—I mean, Prentiss—just sent you the volunteer search-list," I said, correcting myself. She was the only one who I called by their first name.

"_Okay. And I'm cross-checking the names against mental institution records._"

"Pay attention to individuals who are involuntarily committed in Florida. Uh, Rossi's convinced our unsub's the type that likes to stick close to home," I said, walking forward for a bit of privacy.

"_Got it. Talk to you later._"

"Hey, Garcia," I muttered before she could hang up. "You know, you usually call Morgan about these kinda things. Is everything okay?"

"_God, I hate profilers_."

I chuckled. "C'mon, tell me."

"_…I met this guy…at the coffee shop I go to every day…_"

"Right," I nodded. "Got it. Love you, bye." I hung up and put the phone in my back pocket. I gave Morgan a look as I walked back.

"What?"

"When a woman tells a man about her feelings, she doesn't want him to fix her. She wants him to shut up and listen."

* * *

Three more cups of coffee and I was still yawning. I couldn't stand being cooped up in the department, so I decided to go outside and get some fresh air. Morgan had finished talking to Father Marks, but I couldn't find him in the building. I wanted to talk to him about what he meant by 'I like you, Hunter. I want to protect you', even if now wasn't exactly the most appropriate time.

I could see Morgan and Rossi standing outside the glass doors, having a conversation. And just as I was five feet from the door, Morgan started walking away. I stopped for a moment and wondered where he was going. Then I opened up the door and stood next to Rossi who was smiling to himself.

"What's Morgan doing?" I asked.

"Apologizing to Father Marks," he said, just as a car started. He looked at the almost empty coffee cup in my hands. "Can't sleep?"

"Wow. You know, you should be a profiler," I joked, drinking some more of the bitter liquid. "I hate coffee."

"I gathered," Rossi nodded. I looked at him. "You grimace every time you take a sip."

"Oh, I thought you were going to say that you've noticed that in the three weeks I've known you, this is the only time you've ever seen me drink coffee." I cocked my head at him. "Or is that just me being narcissistic?"

Rossi just smiled at me.

"No…I haven't been able to sleep," I sighed. "Talking…to Mr. Kelton…broke my heart. And I know it's not the first time I've ever talked to someone like that. I don't know why, but this one's really getting to me."

"It's okay to feel that way," Rossi said, grabbing my shoulder. "Just as long as it doesn't compromise the case."

I didn't know what else to do but nod.

* * *

"Thank you. Uh, Dr. Fulton confirmed it. Maria Lopez was frozen shortly after her death," Emily said, walking into the room where we all sat.

So, when Morgan was trying to find Father Marks, he wound up finding part of a woman named Maria Lopez's corpse in the church. Hotch believed that the unsub's victims were all being frozen so they would be fresh before he ate them.

"Well, that explains why we haven't been able to find the other victims. He's keepin' 'em," Morgan said.

"How'd you get to cannibalism?" JJ asked.

"He didn't take them for sex and he took their legs. He was trying to tell us by feeding the fingers to Abby Kelton," Hotch said. "Fingers were a message. 'I've killed before' was only a part of it…'I'm eating them' was the other."

"Cannibalism: the greatest taboo," Rossi said. "That explains his drive to blame his appetite on an outside force."

"Why would anyone wanna eat human flesh?" I asked, still grossed-out.

"It's like a sexual urge," Reid said. "Uh…the cross-wiring of the two most basic human drives—sustenance and sex."

"It all fits," Morgan said, waving his hand.

Emily's phone rang. "Hey…Garcia, I'm putting you on speaker," she laid the phone on the tabletop.

"_So, I can't find any patients in Florida who _have_ the charming cocktail of being both a Satanist_ and _a cannibal. However, Hazelwood Mental Institution is _the_ place to go when looking for Florida's most dangerous kinds of wackos, and they had a fire in 1998 that destroyed all their records._"

"How far away is Hazelwood?" Hotch asked.

"Seventy miles," Reid answered.

"Uh, JJ, tell them we're on our way. Um, Reid," Hotch said, getting up.

"Let's do it," the gangly one said.

The rest of us sat in the room, waiting to hear from Hotch. Detective Jordan joined us. Eventually…

"_Rossi, we've got something._"

We all listened intently.

"_I need a name, Reid,_" Hotch whispered. Faintly, I could hear Reid talking about someone biting a chunk out of his sister and I hoped my ears were playing tricks on me. "_A name._" Now something about a flesh-eating demon… "_Reid…_"

"_Uh, Floyd Feylinn Ferell._"

"Feylinn?" Jordan furrowed his brow. "Floyd Feylinn?"

"You know him?" Rossi asked.

"Sure I do."

"He dropped his last name," Emily said, getting up. Morgan and I followed suit.

"Would he be that obvious?" Jordan asked in disbelief.

"Absolutely," Rossi said, standing up with Jordan. "He's not that bright. He believed Satan would protect him from getting caught."

Next thing I knew, we were driving down to Floyd's house, bulletproof vest-clad and guns at the ready. Jordan led the way to the whitewashed house and Morgan kicked the door down (of course).

I couldn't hear what Morgan said, but went into the dark living room. "Clear!" I called. Morgan also cleared the kitchen, and Emily some other room. But Jordan found his way to the cellar door. We watched as he listened in. He turned and signaled to us to check it out.

Softly, I could hear old music, like, from the forties or something.

Morgan looked at Rossi for the okay and opened the door…with his hand this time. He led the way down the stairs, shining his flashlight. We all followed him down.

JJ opened a door and Jordan stepped through. It got cold and I looked in the door. He was standing in a giant freezer, with the other bodies…or what was left of them…lying on bunks.

I opened one of the doors and Rossi followed me in, finding the missing woman from the search. She was attacked to a bunk in a chain link cage. She gasped when she saw us. I noticed that the legs of her khaki pants had been split open in the back.

"Sheryl Timmons?" I asked.

"Yes," she said desperately.

"You're safe now," I told her, getting closer. "Is Tracey Lambert here?" I looked around for another body, but found nothing.

"No!"

Rossi leaned out of the door and asked JJ something as I unlocked Sheryl's cage to get her out.

* * *

We had all met back up at the police station. Morgan found Floyd sitting in some weird kind of altar. Reid was probing some of the paintings found there, but I wasn't listening. I was in a little shock.

"You okay?" Rossi asked as I stared through the window at Floyd in the questioning room.

"I've seen him before," I said as Morgan walked into the questioning room.

I tried to listen to him, but I was too busy trying to think of where I had seen the man. For some reason, my memory was clouded. I thought that maybe if I looked away from the hairy, bespectacled man…

I turned to Rossi and examined him. I noticed that he had his light green shirt unbuttoned a bit at the top. For some reason, that was always a turn-on for me. My brain told me to stop thinking about Rossi, but I couldn't really. He was a handsome man. And he was older. I always liked older men… They were more mature. And they knew how to treat a lady. I don't think I've ever heard an older man refer to his woman as a "ho". It was…refreshing.

_Oh my God. Hunter. STOP. Pay attention!_

I looked away and tried to concentrate on Floyd.

"_You hear voices, Floyd?_" Morgan asked.

"_…I'm not smart_," he said in a southern drawl. He looked away from Morgan. "_But I have a smart friend who tells me things._"

"_What's your smart friend's name?_"

"_He wants me to tell you something._"

"_Tell me what?_"

"_Your watch is stopped_," Floyd said, not looking at Morgan.

Things got a little quiet for a moment, as though people were wondering how he knew that. But I knew it was just a trick to psych him out.

"He's trying to spook him," Rossi said, making my stomach tingle to my chagrin.

"Well, that won't work," Hotch said from next to me.

"_Yeah, uh…I was meaning to change the batteries over a month ago_," Morgan stood up and pushed the seat at the head of the table in. "_You know, we thought you chose athletically-built women because you were attracted to them… But that was only part of it, right?_" Morgan leaned over the table. "_You like a woman with a little meat on her bones, don't ya? Makes for better recipes, don't they? Hmm? Something I'm missing?_"

"_Skinny ones take drugs._"'

"_So what? You don't like drug-users?_"

"_They taste funny_."

I looked down at the floor and crossed my arms.

"_Where's Tracey Lambert, Floyd?_"

"_I'm not supposed to tell you… I'm only supposed to tell Father Marks... I'm gonna stop talkin' now._"

Soon enough, Father Marks was escorted into the station. He walked in with Morgan and sat across the table from Floyd, while Morgan sat at the head. We had rearranged behind the window. Except I was rooted to the spot.

"_Thank you for comin', Father,_" Floyd drawled lazily.

"_Anything I can do for—_"

Morgan cut him off with his hand. "_Floyd…I had to pull some serious strings to get him here_._ My bosses didn't like the idea at all of sendin' him in. Now, they're gonna allow him to sit right here and listen. But you're gonna talk to me, alright?_"

"_Okay,_" Floyd said. "_I've done some really bad things._"

Morgan and Marks looked at each other. "_Everybody's done things they're not proud of, Floyd. The only thing that helps is to talk about 'em. To tell other people. Things are always better after you talk about 'em_."

Floyd was slowly shaking his head. "_Not everything._"

"This is strange," Rossi said. I looked over my shoulder and saw him reading over a case file. "When he entered the park, Feylinn signed the volunteer sign-in sheet. But…his name's not on the list of searchers."

"_Come on, Floyd_," Morgan said. "_I got him here, like ya asked. Now it's your turn… Tell us._"

"I…I think I'm starting to remember," I said suddenly.

"_Where is Tracey Lambert?_"

"What is it, Hunter?" Hotch asked.

"Something's wrong," Rossi said, staring at Floyd.

"I…I saw him…on the trails," I said, furrowing my brow.

"_Father…_" Floyd started. "_I feel so alone…_"

"You need to tell us," Hotch said, touching my shoulder.

"I…" my voice got stuck in my throat. "He…" The pressure wasn't allowing me to think straight.

"_I feel like…God has abandoned me._"

"Hunter," Hotch whispered.

"I'm sorry," I closed my eyes to remember.

"_Why?_"

"_You are not alone, my son_," Father Marks said. "_God is in all of us._"

"We need to stop the interview," Rossi said quickly. And after hearing his voice, I gasped because I remembered.

"_So is Tracey Lambert._"

"He was serving food to the volunteers," I opened my eyes and looked at Floyd, who was grinning at his own sick joke.

Just then, Father Marks jumped across the table and started to choke Floyd. Hotch and Rossi burst through the door and helped Morgan pull him off. I closed my eyes and sighed. The case was over.

* * *

"So, you get ten cards each and the top card of the stack is flipped over," I said, demonstrating on the table in the plane. It was pitch-black outside and some people were trying to get some rest. "You look at this little card with the phases on it and try to make those. So, since I dealt, you can either pick that card up, or one from the deck. And every time you're done with your cards, you discard one onto the pile. You follow me?"

"So far," Rossi said, staring me in the eye.

"Good," I smiled. As he figured out what to do, I organized my cards from lowest number to highest, with my wild on the far right. Suddenly, I gave a great yawn, covering my face.

"You're exhausted. Try to sleep," Rossi said, gesturing to the empty bench type-thing. He put his cards on the deck.

"But I was just teach—"

"Teach me later. Sleep," he said, reaching out to grab mine.

"Okay," I smiled and yawned again, getting up to go curl up on the bench. It felt nice to just lay down, and for the first time in my life, I fell asleep as soon as my eyes were closed.

* * *

"Blaming the Devil for his cannibalism wasn't enough to lessen his guilt…so he tricked others into participating… Made them _all_ as guilty as he was."

"He caught every break possible, Rossi. Gets released from the hospital. His records destroyed. Gets pulled over with a victim in the trunk of his car and they let him go… I've never seen anyone that lucky."

Rossi and Morgan's voices greeted me as I woke up. I was still exhausted. I rolled over onto my back and pretended like I was still sleeping so I could continue to eavesdrop.

"What's your point?"

"You've been doing this a long time, you've seen a lot of things. You think it's possible that Feylinn…I dunno, that he was…getting some kinda…help? From something else."

"It's irrelevant. The job is to _find_ evil, to stop it. Not to know where it came from… Let somebody else take that job… This one's tough enough… You know…Reid was right."

"About?"

"…If you believe in one…you have to believe in the other."


	5. Penelope

**_Riiiiing! Riiiiing! Riiiiing!_**

I reached my arm out from under my heavy comforter and grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

"_Garcia got shot!_" JJ said frantically.

"Oh my God," I gasped. "I-Is she okay?"

"_We're at the hospital!_"

"JJ! Is she okay?"

All I got in return was a click and dial tone. I swore under my breath and hurried out of bed, throwing on my shoes and taking my badge. Since I didn't drive, I had to run to the hospital—which, fortunately, I lived right nearby. I didn't care that I was ridiculously sleep-deprived. I just needed to make sure Penelope was okay.

When I got to the front desk, I flashed my badge and asked where she was. The secretary gave me a room number. And as I ran to find the nearest flight of stairs, she yelled after me that Garcia was still in surgery.

I found Hotch, Reid, and JJ waiting out in the hallway and nearly collapsed in JJ's arms. I had never run that much that fast in my life.

"She's still in surgery," JJ said in a shaken voice. "There's no word."

"This is crazy," Reid said.

"What do we know?" Rossi asked as soon as he and Emily walked in. Apparently, I was the only one who tried to sleep after our last case. If I wasn't so worried about Penelope, I would've cared more about the fact that I was just in my Converse, a pair of red plaid boxer shorts and an old T-shirt

"Police think it was a botched robbery," Hotch said. He, JJ, and Emily were all still in their suits. Reid was wearing some vintage get-up. Rossi was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater. I guess I wasn't the _only_ one who had tried to sleep. I was just the only one who didn't change out of my pajamas…

"Where's Morgan?" Emily asked.

"He's not answering his cell," JJ said.

"I'll call him again," Reid stepped away.

"What aren't you saying?" Rossi asked Hotch.

"I spoke to one of the paramedics who brought her in," Hotch said, unaware that I was listening in. "It doesn't look good."

JJ tried to speak with a surgeon down the hall, but came back shaking her head. "He can't give me an update."

"Morgan's phone keeps going straight to voicemail," Reid said.

"Where the hell is he?" I asked, taking a few deep breaths. I was still a little winded.

Hotch had his arms folded across his chest and shook his head. He looked angry and concerned. I guess that was the father in him.

Emily, JJ, and I sat together. JJ was sitting, chewing her fingernails. Emily grabbed her free hand, and then grabbed mine. I was trying not to cry. Reid was curled up in a chair and Rossi was looking at something in his hand.

It seemed like eons until Morgan finally showed up.

JJ let go of Emily's hand and stood to tell him the news. "She's been in surgery for a couple hours."

"I was at church. My phone was off," Morgan said defensively.

I got up as well and stood next to Hotch, who was also fighting back tears, it seemed.

"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Reid told him.

"The police got any leads?"

"I spoke to the lead detective. He doesn't think we'll get anything from the scene," Hotch said.

The door from the OR opened up and a short man in scrubs walked up to us, holding out a file. "Penelope Garcia?" His tone was soft and quiet. I crossed my fingers, hoping he'd have good news.

"Yes," both Hotch and Emily said.

"The bullet went in her chest and ricocheted into her abdomen. She lost a lot of blood. It was touch and go for awhile, but…we were able to repair the injuries," he smiled.

"So, what are you saying?" JJ asked.

"One centimeter over and it would've torn right through her heart. And instead, she could…actually walk out of here in a couple days." We all sighed in relief. "I'd say that's a minor miracle," he slid off his cap, revealing his bald head. "She needs her rest. You can see her in the morning."

"Thank you," Hotch and Emily said as the surgeon walked away.

"David and I'll go to the scene. I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially or not. We don't touch any new cases until we find out who did this," Hotch said, walking away with Rossi.

* * *

"Unh," Garcia said as the nurse let us walk in. She looked so helpless and frail laying on the gurney. JJ stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek. "Hi. No tears… I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."

That's Garcia for you—always with that sharp sense of humor…even after she almost _died_.

"How are you feeling?" Morgan asked. He was standing to my left, closest to Garcia, where he should be.

"Uh…confused…stupid, and…in pain," she said. I chewed my lip.

"Are you up for some questions?" JJ asked calmly.

Garcia stared ahead and let out a gasp-like breath. "I never saw it coming. He seemed…deliciously normal."

"You know him?" Reid asked.

Garcia kinda shook her head. "You were right. I shouldn't have trusted it."

"What are you talking about?" Morgan asked.

"It's that guy I told you about… The one I met at the coffee shop… I wanted to believe he was interested in me."

"Forget that."

"I let my guard down…"

"Do you have any idea why he would've done this?" Emily asked from Garcia's feet.

"Did he threaten you? Did he want something?" Reid asked.

"I just thought he liked me," Garcia sounded so…feeble. She clenched her eyes shut.

"Okay, um, w-we're gonna come back in a little while," I said, squeezing her hand tightly and giving everyone a look. I couldn't take seeing her like that.

"Your jammies are cute, Hunter."

I smiled and felt my eyes well up. "Thanks, babe."

"We need a name," Emily said before anyone moved.

"James Colby Baylor," Garcia said.

Emily wrote it down and then we all evacuated the room, except JJ, who was asked to stay.

Morgan rubbed his head as he walked forward, and then smacked a white board, leaving the names on it with a hand-print smudge in the middle.

"You need to stay calm," Reid told him.

"Don't tell me what to be," Morgan held up his hand to Reid.

"Remember anything she said about him?" Reid asked with a look back at Garcia.

"…No."

Emily came up beside me. "I just talked to Hotch. They think he used a revolver."

"Who the hell uses a revolver?" Morgan asked.

"Someone who doesn't want to leave shell casings behind as evidence," I bit my lip.

"What about witnesses?"

"None so far," Emily looked down at her little notebook. "And he staged it to look like a robbery."

"Which means he's smart enough to use forensic counter-measures; odds are, the name he gave Garcia is probably bogus," Reid looked back at JJ, who was walking up to us. "What'd she say?"

"She made me promise not to talk about her like a victim," JJ's voice was still shaky.

**Four days later**

We had no leads. Morgan and Reid were trying to retrace Garcia's steps, and they thought the car the guy used was a rental. JJ, Emily, and I were standing in the bullpen, waiting for Hotch and Rossi. JJ was just ending a call on her cell phone.

"That was the police," she gestured her phone to the men. "They took the sketch back to the coffee shop… the restaurant. Came up empty."

"They even ran it through ViCap," I sighed, taking a seat. "No hits."

"No luck with the rental car companies, no prints at the scene, no shell casings, the cell phone the guy used to call Garcia at work was disposable…" Hotch said, walking around the table to look at the bulletin board covered with pictures of Garcia's apartment building. "The guy's a cipher."

Eventually, Morgan and Reid showed up, telling us about what they discovered. He claimed to be a city lawyer, was flashy, and was really cocky too. He went on about how people can get away with murder, the sleazeball.

"He knows enough to use legal terminology, but he's not actually a working lawyer," Reid said, taking a seat.

"I think we're looking at someone who failed out of law school or didn't pass the bar," Morgan said.

"Did Garcia say if he gave any details about the cases he was supposedly working?" JJ asked.

"No specifics," Reid said.

"If he failed out of the system, it could explain why he's got a working vocabulary and not much more," I shrugged.

"It could also explain his anger," Emily said. "Even in his lie, he rails against other people's incompetence."

"Well, he's clearly a narcissist," Rossi said from right next to me. "The clothes, the watch, the subtle hints at where he went to school. He's faking humility when he's saying New Haven and Cambridge instead of Yale and Harvard."

"JJ, we need an analyst who can, uh, put our information through our legal databases," Hotch said.

"I'm on it," she left the room.

* * *

_I can't believe this is happening…_ I thought, rolling my eyes.

"Is this really necessary?" JJ asked as the balding, bespectacled Internal Affairs guy untacked everything from the bulletin board and put it into a box. We had been kicked off the case and Garcia had been suspended because she had an encrypted file on her computer.

"It's protocol," he said. We didn't respond. "Yes, it's necessary. Mr. Lynch here," he was talking about the geeky dude with long dark hair, who reminded me of Xander from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "will do an audit of her computer. I will oversee the investigation."

"A federal employee was just gunned down and you make it seem like investigating _her_ is more important than finding out who shot her," JJ observed angrily.

"Oh, that's not true. The police have jurisdiction and trust me, I will offer them the full force of the FBI to solve this case," IA Guy said.

"All due respect, sir, the BAU is part of that force," Emily pointed out.

"Look, I'm sorry; I realize how hard this must be…"

"But?" I quirked an eyebrow.

"But the first thing you look at is victimology, correct?" He waited for us to nod. "The Bureau needs to know what she's involved in and whether it has to do with why she was shot."

"She's not involved in anything," JJ said. She and Morgan probably knew Garcia the best.

"And you're certain of that?" he put his hand on one hip.

"Absolutely," Emily folded her arms across her chest.

Without a word, the man walked around the desk and opened the box. "What do you know about _how_ she was recruited to the FBI?"

We looked at each other and realized that we didn't really know.

"Well, the Bureau keeps track of computer hackers, ones who have the skill to be either extremely useful or a potential menace."

"So, Garcia was on a watch-list?" Emily asked incredulously.

"No, watch-lists are long. I'm talking about…only a handful of people on the planet."

"What did she do to get on that list?" JJ asked. She seemed to be questioning herself as to whether or not she really _did_ know Garcia as well as she thought.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to answer that," IA guy said and I rolled my eyes yet again.

* * *

Morgan took Garcia home. Apparently, the "James Colby Baylor" guy tried to kill Garcia again. Unfortunately, the policeman who was outside of the building got shot and killed. Thank God Morgan stayed with her.

"If I ever get my hands on that son of a bitch…" I trailed off, getting out of the SUV with Hotch and Rossi.

A large African-American man, Detective Walker, started talking to Hotch about us not being able to work the case.

"We're just here to comfort a friend," Hotch said.

"I'm about to have to tell a good friend's wife her husband got murdered… I don't care what your office says. Any help you can give is good in my book," Walker said.

"Thanks," Hotch said.

"I'm sick of being behind this guy," Rossi said. I noticed his shirt was undone a little at the top again. Only this time, I didn't care as much. I was more concerned about Garcia. "We gotta end this."

We separated from the detective and walked up to Garcia's colorful apartment, where our tech analyst was surrounded by Emily, Morgan, Reid, and JJ. Immediately, I went over to Garcia and gave her a hug. I was careful not to put a lot of pressure on her.

"Hey," I said, kissing her forehead. "Did you get a good look at him?" I looked up at Morgan.

"Nothing solid," he told me

"Garcia, we need to get you back to the hospital," Hotch said.

"No!" she replied as I grabbed her hands to help her up. I let go and stepped to the side.

"N-uh, you know what? You-you should still _be_ there. We should get her some place safe," JJ said.

"I feel safe with all of you," Garcia protested.

"We can take you to the BAU," Hotch said after a moment of hesitation.

Garcia nodded and JJ got up to help her, but the bespectacled girl just stared into the distance.

"Garcia?" JJ tried to get her attention.

"You okay?" Reid asked.

"Sweetie?" I put my hand on her shoulder.

"When we were at dinner…they wanted to seat us by a window," she recollected. "But he insisted on sitting at the worst table _in_ the place… And he sat with his back to the corner."

We all looked at each other, then Walker and another detective came in.

"Detective," Hotch turned around. "Can you clear the room for just a minute?"

"I've got a dead cop downstairs and considering this part of the crime scene," Walker said.

"I know. Just a couple of minutes."

Walker looked at us, then back to Hotch. "Do what you gotta do." And they left.

"Thank you."

"Tell us about the car," Reid asked.

"Why?" Garcia questioned.

"Just go with him," Morgan sat down next to her.

"Y-You said it was white, four-door, American—what else?" Reid asked.

Garcia shook her head. "That's it. It was just a car."

"Now, c'mon. Think. Anything. Go back," Morgan coached her.

"…The seatbelt was buckled behind his back," she told us. She must have seen the looks we all exchanged. "Why does that matter?"

"It wasn't a rental," Morgan said. "It was for surveillance."

"Agents…don't wear seatbelts," Emily explained, moving around a little. "They need to get out in a hurry."

"Alright, let's cut the crap," Rossi said, stepping forward. "You need to be straight with us," he sat on the table in front of. "Right now. Look at me, not them!"

_What the hell…?_ I furrowed my brow at him.

"I'm not hiding anything," she said.

"You got shot—most people get shot for a reason." Garcia looked at Morgan. "Eyes here!"

"Hey, ease up, Rossi," Morgan said sharply, but the older agent held up a hand to silence him.

"You got a room full of people here willing to believe that an FBI agent is trying to kill you! We need to know everything you do on company time that we don't know about." Garcia seemed to remember something. "What?"

"C'mon, man," Morgan cut in again.

"Uh, it's nothing—"

"SPIT IT OUT!" Rossi interrupted.

"It's nothing bad!" Garcia said. "It's ju—I…counsel victims' families…and they know where I work, so sometimes they ask me to look into cases for them."

"What does that _mean_?" Rossi asked.

"It just means that the cases…the unsolved ones…I tag them so whoever's investigating them knows that the FBI considers them a priority."

"You're not authorized to do that," Hotch said as Rossi got up.

"I know; I was just trying to help."

"But whoever thinks you're working those cases thinks you're watching them," I said.

"I just wanna put the pressure on them so that they don't slide," Garcia seemed near tears.

"How many cases are we talking about?" Hotch asked, walking over to her.

"I don't know. Seven…eight, maybe. I need to get into my system," she said.

"You can't. You're suspended," Hotch reminded her.

"Wait a minute—Garcia," Morgan started. "On your date, you said this guy was pressing you to find out if you were working murder cases."

"Mm-hmm," she said.

"Hotch, we gotta look at those files."

Our Unit Chief looked at Rossi.

"I told you, I'm sick of this jag-off being in front of us," Rossi said, still angry.

"Dave's right," Hotch said quietly. "We'll go back to the BAU. Morgan, Reid, Prentiss, you stay here and make sure no one forgets to log out of the system. Garcia should not have access."

"Understood," Morgan said.

* * *

I sat with Rossi in his office. Hotch said that my job was to keep him composed because apparently, Rossi had mentioned something about me having a strange soothing effect on him… I had no idea what he was talking about, but I told him I'd try my best.

"Have you calmed down a bit?" I asked.

"Yeah," Rossi had his hand on his forehead. "This case is just pissing me off."

"I've noticed," I nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault I'm so Italian," he sighed, making me grin a little.

Before I could say anything, there was a knock on the door. Rossi got up to open the door and I saw Hotch. I walked over as well.

"See the cop down there? He's our unsub. Don't let him know we're onto him. He's a spiraling narcissist with a hero-homicide complex," Hotch muttered to us. I looked over his shoulder and saw a cop pacing back and forth by the Lynch and Internal Affairs guys.

"He's trying to prove to himself that he's smarter than all of us," Rossi said as I closed the door behind me. We walked to the railing by the staircase.

"It's too crowded in here. We can't get an angle on him without putting people in jeopardy," Hotch said. We walked down the stairs. When we got down there, we pretended to look at a case file.

"Okey-dokey," Lynch said.

"You're sure my files are wiped off the system," the unsub said.

Lynch nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Alright. I'll keep you updated on our investigation," IA guy said. He got up to leave and then the unsub grabbed him around the neck, turned him around so they were facing the same direction, and put his gun to the man's balding head.

Rossi, Hotch, and I pulled out our guns and aimed them at the cop.

"You're a cop," Rossi said, stepping forward slowly. "You _know_ this isn't gonna end well."

"You're standing in the middle of the FBI," Hotch said.

"You think I'm afraid of the FBI?" the unsub asked.

"I know how this is gonna end and so do you."

"I'm a decorated officer."

"That's right," I said. "And this is _not_ how you wanna be remembered. You're in control here…you write the ending. Your choice."

"Best minds in the FBI," he snickered. "You can't even stop me."

In my peripheral vision, I could see JJ behind the glass doors, aiming her gun at the unsub. Then, hoping he'd noticed, I locked my eyes on her. He looked back.

And JJ shot.

The glass shattered and the unsub fell. We put our guns back in our holsters and went over to him.

"It's clear!" Rossi shouted.

I looked at JJ and almost smiled. I don't think I had ever seen her fire a gun. I was proud of her.

By the time the shards had been cleaned up and the unsub's body had been covered, Garcia, Morgan, Reid, and Emily came through the gaping hole that once was a glass door. They went to examine the body, but I stayed where I was. Hotch was talking with the IA guy, but I wasn't really paying attention.

"I'm proud of you," Rossi said as we leaned against a desk together.

"How come?" I quirked an eyebrow.

"You said exactly what I would've."

"Did I, now?"

"Mmm," he nodded.

The IA guy left and Morgan took his place.

"How's Garcia?" Hotch asked.

"She'll make sense of it," Morgan said, looking away from Garcia and JJ's hug to Hotch.

"And you?" Rossi asked. "How's your faith?"

Morgan looked at him, then at Hotch, then back at him. "Day-to-day," he said before turning around and walking away.

"C'mon," Hotch looked at me. "I'll give you a ride home."

Rossi gave me a look. "Car in the shop?"

"Uh…" I chewed my lip. I guess I didn't realize how tired I truly was until I had the chance to really relax. "I don't…"

"Hunter saves polar bears," Hotch came to my rescue. "She doesn't drive."

"Right," I nodded, my eyelids sagging. Polar bears were only part of why I didn't drive…

"Hey," Rossi said. "Get some sleep. Don't worry about the next case. We've got more than enough people on this team."

"Rossi's right," Hotch said. "Take a break. If we need you, we'll call you."

"Okay," I nodded, trying to keep my eyes open. "If you say so…"


	6. Birthright

** "Well, if it** isn't Sleeping Beauty," Morgan said, coming up behind me as I sat at my desk.

"Good morning," I grinned at him. "What was the last case like?"

"Pretty strange," Morgan said, sitting on my desk, sipping coffee. "Comic book artist was on a psychotic break. Cuttin' up thugs because they killed his fiancée. He started to work on a new book, drawing the pictures of the murders to a T, not knowing he was the one really doing it."

I pressed the corners of my lips down and nodded. "Sketchy."

"You look just like Gideon when you do that," he murmured.

"I miss him," I sighed. "He was kind of a hard-ass, but…"

"Rossi's alright," Morgan nodded.

"Yeah, I like Rossi," I said quietly. _More than you'll ever know…hopefully._

"Something on your mind?"

"Uh—" I thought of what to tell him. I couldn't just outright say that I had strange, unwelcome feelings for Rossi… So I decided on telling him about how the man had come and visited me once they returned from the case I missed.

_ I had just come back from going on a run. Of course, I had only gone in a pair of black Under Armour shorts, a bright blue sports bra, and sneakers… I hadn't had enough time to even think about showering before the knock came on the door._

_ I stopped downing my water bottle and jogged from the kitchen to the front room. I looked through the peephole and, much to my chagrin, saw Rossi standing there. He was in his signature suit jacket/button-up shirt/jeans get-up. I sighed and opened the door._

_ "Hi," I said, trying to catch my breath._

_ "Uh," he seemed to be struggling to maintain eye-contact and I felt really self-conscious, "I just wanted to check up on you."_

_ "Mm-hmm," I nodded. "Well, I'm still alive. Barely," I laughed. "I haven't gone for a _long_ run in a long time."_

_ "How far?" Rossi asked._

_ "Ten miles," I said._

_ He nodded, his eyebrows raised. "Well, I'm glad to see you're still alive."_

_ "You too," I said stupidly. _

_ "Bye Hunter."_

_ "Have a nice day," I smiled, rolling my eyes at myself as he walked away…_

"Hold that thought," Morgan said, pointing a finger at me. "We've got a case."

"Okay," I smiled in relief. And the two of us set off for the bullpen.

Nearly everyone was there—even Garcia. JJ seemed to be the only one missing. I noticed that the seat next to Rossi was open. But as I got closer, I saw that the man was resting his leg on it. He slid it off and gave me a smile.

"It was weird not having you sit next to me last time," he said.

"You missed me?" I smirked. Inside, my stomach was erupting with butterflies.

"Li'l bit," he put his finger and thumb apart by an inch and winked at me.

"You're mocking me," I narrowed my eyes at him and sat down.

"Li'l bit."

"Shut up."

Just then, JJ walked into the room, looking over the case file. "Ah, everyone's here," she said in a distracted voice. "Sorry I'm late," she put the files down and grabbed the clicker while clearing her throat. "Okay. Last night in Fredericksburg, twenty year-old woman, Molly McCarthy was abducted. She's the third to go missing in the last six weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen 'em since."

"Until now," Rossi said.

"A couple days ago, bodies with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park, which was once the site of the Battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an ID?" Hotch asked.

"It was the first victim taken six weeks ago. Decomp indicated that she had been dead just over a week," JJ said, walking toward the table.

"So he likes spending time with them," I observed.

"How'd she end up like that?" Emily asked, pointing her pen at a photo of a severed forearm on the screen behind JJ.

"ME found microscopic tool marks on the bone," JJ explained.

"I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania County, similar markings on the bone," Reid said.

"It was the winter of 1980. Also Fredricksburg, five women, sixteen to twenty-four, buried in pieces, same markings, same Civil War battlefield."

"Killed the same time of year, left at the same dump site?" Rossi asked.

"It's like an anniversary," Morgan said.

"That case is still open," JJ said.

"Back then, the victims were drug-addicts and runaways," Reid said.

"If he spends that much time with them, there's a chance these two women could still be alive," Hotch said.

"Wait—we think this could be the same killer?" Emily asked. "That's a hell of a cooling off period."

"BTK resurfaced after a twenty-five year hiatus," Morgan pointed out.

"True, but he didn't kill anyone. He only taunted the police," I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Marks on the bone, where dumps them," Rossi said, reading the file. "That's a very specific signature. Hard to copycat details that were never made public."

"Garcia, check the MO against girls missing in other states. Could explain the long absence," Hotch requested.

"I'm on it," she said, leaving the room.

"If this _is _the same unsub…what's he been doing for the past twenty-seven years?" Rossi asked.

* * *

Emily, Morgan, Rossi, and I were in the Fredericksburg police station, waiting to meet with John Caulfield, the sheriff who worked the first case.

"Am I in the right place?"

We looked behind us and saw an old man with a cane. Just the sound of his voice (…and the cane) made me think of the lawyer from _The Aristocats_.

"David Rossi," the older agent shook his hand.

"John Caulfield," the other man smiled. He was such a cute old man with the fuzz on his head and the beard.

"Agents Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and Hunter McCarthy," Rossi introduced.

I beamed at him from where I stood next to Emily.

"Just going over your old case, sir," Morgan told him.

Caulfield nodded and looked down at the table, realizing what case we were talking about. "Oh…" his face fell. He said the name of one of the original victims and stepped forward, taking her picture. "She was sixteen years old. We found her body in pieces… I promised her parents that I would find out who did this… Then her father passed away."

Rossi, sensing Caulfield was getting upset, took the picture and put it down. "Tell us what Fredricksburg was like in 1980."

"Uh, it was a farming community," Caulfield said as Rossi helped him sit down. "Rural. Everybody knew everybody. You could leave your doors open at night."

"Town homes and housing communities are everywhere now. That could explain the change in victim type," Emily said.

"Runaways and prostitutes to college students," Morgan said, cocking his head to the side. "He's taking what's available."

"It's not normal for a killer to stop for twenty-seven years, is it?" Caulfield asked.

"No," I shook my head. "But he could've been in prison. Injured. He might've moved away."

"He must've found other ways to satisfy his needs," Rossi added. Caulfield just shook his head and stared down at the picture.

* * *

The next day, the body of Julie Stanton was found in the park. Reid, JJ, and Hotch were checking out the site.

I stared outside of the sheriff station and saw Caulfield sitting outside on the stairs. Rossi came up behind me and touched my elbow, sending a strange feeling throughout my body. He wanted me to follow him outside so I could talk with Caulfield, even though I had no idea what I was supposed to say.

But I still followed him and sat down on the step next to Rossi, hugging my knees. I stared down at the start of a rip in my jeans and then put my chin on top of it.

"Huh? You come to check up on me?" Caulfield said, putting something in his jacket's pocket.

Rossi shook his head. "Nope."

"Legend around here says I'm crazy."

Rossi paused. "I'm not big on legends."

Caulfield chewed on that for a moment. "I didn't wanna think that someone from here could've done this."

"You believed in the community," I said, turning my head to the side so I could look at him.

"That…was my mistake."

"Pretty common one," Rossi told him. Caulfield, who was looking down, nodded his wrinkled head. "I wanna show you something." Rossi pulled something out of his pocket—the thing that he always seemed to be looking at. It was a charm bracelet—but the charms were little plates with names on them. "I carry this…" he handed it to Caulfield, "wherever I go."

"They your kids?"

"Indianapolis, Christmas Eve," Rossi said. "One of my first cases on the job… Three kids watched their parents get beaten to death. Every year, I call to tell them I haven't forgotten…I'm still looking." He took the bracelet back. "Last year…not one of them bothered to return my call." Caulfield just stared and then looked down. I chewed on my lip. "C'mon," he whispered, patting Caulfield on the back. "We're wasting time."

I knew why he wanted me to come with him. He wanted me to have a better understanding of why he came back.

As soon as we went back to our room in the station, Emily came up to us, holding a piece of paper. "I've got a list of violations in this county that precede the 1980 murders," she handed it to Rossi. "Uh, DUI, petty thefts, rape, assault. A few of these are repeat offenders."

Morgan walked in with his phone held up. "Garcia's got something."

"_Don't worry, it's not contagious,_" she sighed. "_So…I have dug across the whole _country_ looking for this guy's MO. I found a sum total of _zilch._ So…I went closer to home. I found a complaint filed by a Karen Foley in the next county over. The story's, uh…awful. I sent a copy to all your handhelds. PG version is that…she was kidnapped…in 1979, but then…she escaped._"

"I never heard that story," Caulfield said.

"It wasn't your jurisdiction," Rossi told him. He looked over at Morgan. "What if she was his first?"

"Like his dress-rehearsal… Figured out who and where to hunt; learned what worked, what didn't," Morgan said.

"Maybe careful planning has always been part of his process," Rossi said, looking at me.

"Where is she now?" I asked, looking at the phone.

"Baby girl, work your magic and find us an address," Morgan said into the phone's receiver.

"_I'm on it._"

* * *

I sat at the table, rereading Karen Foley's report. She was drugged, burned, beaten, sexually assaulted, and held against her will. She was told to call home. And somehow, she escaped.

As soon as Garcia found her address, she called Morgan. He and Emily left to go, leaving Rossi, Caulfield, and me at the station. Rossi read the list Emily had given him before we found out about Karen.

When I finished rereading the report, I looked up at Rossi, who was standing up. I sighed. "Thank you."

He turned and looked at me. "For what?"

"For sharing," I licked my lips. "Why you came back."

Rossi nodded. "If you don't mind, I'd like you keep that between us for right now."

"Er, yeah," I nodded. "I wasn't planning on telling anyone."

"Thank you," he looked back at the list.

"Karen Foley recanted her story," Emily said as she and Morgan walked back into the station.

"Do you think she's lying?" Rossi asked.

"Well, _something_ happened to her," Emily said. "She avoided eye contact. Shielded herself. She got very defensive."

"Just refused to admit it happened," Morgan added.

"She couldn't open that door. Afraid she could never come back," Rossi said.

"Right now, the only person she's protecting is the offender," Emily said.

"We just told her that this guy could still be out there," Morgan sounded annoyed. "She wasn't even concerned. She wasn't scared at all. Why?"

"Maybe she's got nothing to be afraid of," I shrugged, standing up

"Where're you going with this?" Caulfield asked, making us turn around to look at him.

"Why can't someone let a case go?" I asked him.

"Because in your guts, you know the son-of-a-bitch is still out there," he explained.

"Exactly," Rossi filled in for me, "only she doesn't blink."

"She'd only move back here because she thought it was safe," Morgan said after a moment. "So, the guy who actually did this to her either moved away or-or he _died_."

Rossi stepped forward, nearly cornering Caulfield. "You know who this man is. He grew up here too. He was in his mid-twenties back then. He left after you found his last victim."

Caulfield took the list. "December thirteen, 1980."

"He might've gone to prison," Morgan added. Caulfield looked at him. "Could've joined the military. Moved away… Sold his property…"

"He was reckless in his personal life. A drinker. He would've had arrests for DUI," Emily said.

"This is it. This is your case, right here," Rossi said. "He was meticulous, so he-he may have had _two_ areas of control—both private. One to torture and one to confine them."

"A workshop, maybe," I shrugged. "A barn, a garage even."

"December, 1980," Rossi put his hand on Caulfield's shoulder. "The man was here and then he was gone. You _know_ him, John."

"Robert Wilkinson!" Caulfield said finally.

Emily looked at her copy of the list. "Three DUIs. Spent a few days in jail."

"Well, he's dead. He-He was twenty-eight when it happened. He fell into his coma in Harveston."

"When was this?" Morgan asked.

"December, 1980," Emily showed him the list. "Right when the killings stopped."

"Karen Foley moved back soon after that," I nodded.

"Was he survived by anyone?" Morgan asked.

"A widow," Caulfield remembered.

* * *

Morgan, Emily, and I stayed by the SUV as Rossi and Caulfield went up to the front door of Mary Wilkinson's house. She lived on a farm. There was an old woman sitting on the porch who watched as the two men walked into the house. They were only gone for a few minutes. Caulfield stayed on the porch, talking to Mary. But Rossi walked over to us.

"She doesn't seem too upset," Emily noticed.

"She wasn't _surprised_," Rossi said, looking at her. "She didn't even ask why we thought he did it. She suspected him… He was a drunk; she got pregnant and left him."

"Abandonment," I said, getting Morgan, Emily, Rossi's attention. "Might've had the same thing with his mother. Either way, he can't handle it. That's his stressor. He starts killing."

"Madonna-whore complex," Morgan said. "He couldn't touch his pure wife, so he had to find disposable girls."

"The killings stopped when he died," Emily pointed out. "So who's doing it now?"

* * *

"There's been another abduction," JJ said, walking into the station with Sheriff Ballantyne behind her. The whole team was finally together again.

"Her name's Tara Ricker," he said. "Family called this morning. She didn't come home last night. We're still trying to locate the vehicle."

"Well, we know he kills after he takes another victim, so we're running out of time, here," JJ said impatiently as we crowded around the table.

"Alright, what do we know?" Hotch asked.

"Uh, definitely a copycat," Emily said. "Same MO, same dumpsite."

"Only, you never released any of that to the press," Rossi said to Caulfield.

"No," he shook his head.

"He had to learn it from someone. Uh, a family member…uh, a friend, maybe…" Reid said.

"Mary and Robert Wilkinson had a son," I pointed out.

"Are you suggesting there's a genetic, uh, predisposition to killing?" Caulfield looked at me.

"It's one factor, along with psychology and socialization," Hotch said.

"If you have a combination of genetics and a son who grew up without a father, searching for his own identity," Rossi nodded his head. "Could be a stressor."

"I remember Charlie Wilkinson was fifteen. Killed a neighbor's cat. He…put it in a bag and…hit it against a tree," Caulfield said.

"How old is Charlie Wilkinson?" Emily asked.

"Mary was pregnant with him when Robert died."

"That was twenty-seven years ago. Makes him roughly the same age Robert was when he started killing."

Morgan's phone rang and he picked it up. "What do you got for us, girl?" he put the phone down on the table.

"_I just found the reason why Karen Foley was lying…_" Garcia then told us that Karen had a son. Robert Wilkinson's son. Rossi and Emily went to talk to Karen. Hotch and JJ went to Tara's crime scene. I stayed with Reid and Morgan and we found out that Charlie Wilkinson didn't go to work that day.

Hotch and JJ picked us up after Reid called them and we drove to Charlie Wilkinson's house. JJ and I were on the porch and she knocked on the door. A pretty blonde woman, obviously pregnant, opened the front door.

"Chrissy Wilkinson?" JJ asked.

"Can I help you?" Charlie's wife asked.

"Jennifer Jareau," JJ held up her badge and cocked her head to the side, "this is Hunter McCarthy—no relation to the missing girl. We're with the FBI."

"FBI?"

"We're looking for Charles Wilkinson," I said. "Is he here?"

"Uh—he's at work," Chrissy replied.

"He's…not there," JJ said in a choppy voice. "Do you mind if we take a look around?"

"I don't understand. What's this about?"

"We're investigating the murders of some local women."

"…And you're looking for Charlie…?"

"Ma'am, we could go get a warrant if we needed to," I pointed out.

Chrissy seemed at a loss for words. Her eyes shifted from me to JJ to the outside.

"Ma'am?" JJ tried to get her attention.

Chrissy nodded. We turned and saw Morgan, Reid, Hotch, and Detective Ballantyne go over to the big white barn in the yard. Ballantyne pried it open with a crowbar and they disappeared inside.

They came out soon and told us to call Rossi. Inside the barn was a set of handcuffs chained to the ceiling, as well as a bloody axe leaning against a bloody block of wood.

"Obviously this is where he's been torturing them. But where has he been keeping them?" Emily asked, examining the barn with Morgan and me.

"Somewhere isolated," Morgan shrugged. "He can't risk storin' 'em close to his house."

I got up from where I was squatting and turned to see Rossi talking to Caulfield. Then I noticed him looking outside the barn. I looked as well and saw Mary talking with a cop. I followed Rossi and Caulfield.

"Ms. Wilkinson," Rossi greeted her. She turned and stared at us. "Excuse us," Rossi said to the officer.

"Mm-hmm," he walked away.

"Chrissy called," Mary said. I finally got a good look at her. She had long brown hair. She was about my height. One of her eyes was bigger than the other. That was all I could focus on… "What's goin' on?"

"We're looking for Charlie," Rossi said, his hands on his hips. "Don't you wanna know _why_?" Mary pressed her lips into a firm line and jutted her chin out "You _knew_ Charlie was an angry kid; made excuses when he killed a neighbor's cat… You saw the path he was going down." Mary vehemently started shaking her head. "It's why you moved away from this place. You _knew_ what happened here."

"That's not true," she kept shaking her head.

"You were afraid of the stock he came from. You thought if you just…_took_ him away from his father's home, you kept it all a big secret, then everything would be okay."

"I protected him!"

"Problem is, boy like Charlie with so much anger, so many questions, _needs_ to know where he came from. He wouldn't quit until he knew. And then one day, he figured it out," Rossi ended heatedly.

Mary still shook her head, only this time in defeat. She looked at Rossi, then me, then Caulfield. "It was over, John. You didn't _have_ to worry about any other girls getting hurt. And I did not want my _son_ to have the legacy that his father was a murderer."

"Where's Charlie now?" Caulfield asked.

"I don't know," she said. Rossi gave her a look. "Honest, I don't."

Still glaring at her, Rossi took a step backwards and then turned to walk away.

"There's no peace sign in here," Morgan said, coming to meet us. (When Karen Foley was kidnapped, she carved a peace sign on the wall.)

"It must be where he held them," I said.

"Karen Foley said he'd make her walk outside," Emily said.

"You think she can handle coming back to this place?" Morgan asked.

Emily let out a breath. "I don't know," she looked at Rossi. "You saw her. She's buried this thing for twenty-seven years…"

"Do we have a choice?" Rossi asked.

Next thing we knew, Karen Foley arrived in a squad car. Her son helped her out of the vehicle. She had long, sandy blonde hair and she looked nervous. Emily and Morgan greeted her and led her to the barn.

Rossi and I stood right outside of it. Karen Foley was ten feet away from us when she stopped walking. She took a shuddery breath and closed her eyes.

"Oh, God," she said.

"You okay?" Emily asked.

Karen turned toward her. "That smell was a part of me… Who's that?" She must have been looking at Caulfield, who was talking to the widow.

"That's Mary Wilkinson," Emily told her.

"The _wife_?" Karen's voice suddenly got louder and more tearful than before. "He _tortured_ me! Every single night! Could you hear my screams?!" She took a few steps closer to Mary. "Did you _kiss_ him when he was finished with me?!"

"Please, please, don't do this to yourself," Emily pleaded, trying to halt Karen.

"What did she think he was _doing_ in that barn?!" Karen gestured over to us. "Every night! Did you ask? Did you ask why he wanted to be away from you?! Why?! Why didn't you stop him?! Why didn't you _help_?!"

"I killed him!" Mary admitted.

My jaw dropped.

"What?" Karen sobbed.

"Before Charlie was born."

Morgan looked at Rossi and me.

"I came home," Mary continued, "and I saw this place… And I knew what he had done… And I couldn't…let my…innocent baby be brought into _this_."

Karen gasped for breath. "You…you did…"

_No freakin' wonder Charlie turned out the way he did_, I thought as we brought Karen and Mary into the barn.

"I…I don't know where he'd take me," Karen said to Rossi. She had her arms folded across her chest. She seemed to have calmed down a bit. "He always had that…bag over my head."

"Your other senses could've been in overdrive," Rossi told her. "We're gonna walk you through it."

"What did the ground feel like?" Emily asked.

Karen jerked her head to the side and let out a nervous laugh.

"Close your eyes," I told her. "Take a few steps towards me."

She sighed and did so, her arms at her sides now. "Leaves and twigs. It was a long walk… There was a hill…I stumbled… There was something…soft…and cold, but it-it's covering something hard." She held her hand out like she was touching something.

"Like wood?" Emily asked.

"…Rocks!" Karen straightened up. "Taller than me."

Mary looked like she remembered something. "Along the north side of the property," she said.

"Hotch," Morgan said into his comm. piece. "I think we've got something."

* * *

Hotch, Morgan, and Ballantyne found the two girls in a hideaway inside a rock. Chrissy found Charlie sitting on a park bench, confronted him, and shot him. Rossi, Caulfield, and I watched as two men examined his body.

"You'd think I'd feel better," the old man said.

"You know, these last killings weren't your fault," Rossi said.

"Yeah…"

"You couldn't have solved that case… Your killer was dead."

"Not to me," Caulfield spoke slowly. "Twenty-seven years… How long's it been for you?"

"Twenty."

"Don't let it get to twenty-one."

* * *

"Who's up for a drink?" Morgan asked as we got back to the BAU.

"Ooh, who's up for _five_?" Emily asked.

"Count me in," Rossi said.

"Me too. Good thing I don't drive," I sighed. I didn't drink that much. Lots of alcoholics in my family. But occasionally, a raspberry daiquiri is just what hits the spot.

"I don't know, uh—"

"Oh, stop with the 'I don't know', you're in, kid," Morgan interrupted Reid. "JJ?"

"Ugh, I'd love to…" she sorted out some files. "Gonna have to take a rain check."

"Aw," Emily patted her shoulder.

"Hotch," Rossi said as our Unit Chief walked past.

"Yeah?"

"You up for a beer?"

He kept walking and then stopped in consideration. "Sure."

The (newly replaced) glass doors opened and two young men walked through.

"Agent Hotchner," the curly-haired one said.

"Yes."

Hotch was handed an orange envelope and a clipboard. We watched as he signed it.

"What is it?" Emily asked.

Hotch handed the young man back the clipboard and pen before turning to us. "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

I never really cared too much for Haley. I felt bad for Hotch. He tried so hard to balance his family and his work, but it wasn't enough for her. They had separated before Rossi came back to the BAU. And now…

We watched, gap-mouthed as he walked through the glass doors and out of sight.


	7. 3rd Life

**"Have you ID'd** the body?" Hotch asked Detective Payton.

"It's a girl," he told us as we walked to the ravine where the body lay.

"One of the missing girls?"

"All I can tell you right now…is it's a girl."

Katie Owen and Lindsey Vaughan. Two girls from Chula Vista, California who had been missing. The case hit close to home.

"Did you draw up a list of those involved with the search?" Morgan asked.

"You're gonna find the parents of the girls on that list," Payton said as we went under the yellow police tape, handing Morgan the very list in question.

"Please tell me they didn't discover the body," Emily said.

"No, as soon as our dogs caught her scent, we kept them away from the scene."

"She's been missing eighteen hours?" Reid asked.

"That's correct. We _found_ the body five hours ago."

Even though I was deathly afraid of falling, I stared into the ravine at the body. It was a young girl wearing denim shorts and a pink t-shirt. I turned away and Rossi caught my eye before looking himself. I would _never_ un-see that…

"The parents have been here all this time?" I asked.

"Yeah," Payton breathed. "And I'm running out of excuses."

"I'm gonna go talk to them," JJ said.

"JJ, I'll come with you," Morgan tore his eyes away from the bloody scene.

"Thanks," Payton said. "I gotta be honest, guys… I'm glad you're out here because I have never seen anything like that."

"Her face_ and_ her hands have been obliterated," Hotch described and I cringed. I know I'm supposed to stay level-headed when it comes to cadavers, but sometimes I just couldn't help it. And this case in particular reminded me so much of a moment in my past that I could never forget.

We walked down to the ravine and examined the body. I chewed my lip, trying to stay strong.

"Developed bruises, cuts… Layer upon layer," Emily said, looking at the bloody mess.

"Bindings cut deep into her flesh," Reid added.

"There's heavy bruising around her neck," I said. "She was strangled to death."

"A belt was used," Reid said. "You can see the indentation marks of a buckle."

"But why destroy her hands and face?" Payton asked.

"It indicates she knew the attacker," Hotch said.

"By destroying her ID, they're hoping to delay you making a connection between the victim and the unsub," Rossi explained.

"Gives him time to get away," I sighed, trying to keep my cool.

"You think the other girl's still alive?" Payton asked.

"'Til we find her body, we should assume she is," Rossi said.

"One thing's for sure," Hotch started. "This is only the dumpsite. We need to figure out where she was killed."

I looked up at the top of the hill and saw a hard-looking man with his hands in his pockets. His face looked weathered and he seemed un-emotional.

"And which girl we're looking for."

I looked at Rossi and saw his eyes were on the man too. He and Payton went up to talk to the poor parents.

* * *

"_Daddy, help me, please!_"

"_It lasts exactly fifty-three seconds. And then it goes dead…I think she was strangled_," Garcia told us. She had just played the last voicemail one of the girls sent to her mother.

"What do you wanna do?" Morgan asked, looking at Hotch, who was holding a fist to his mouth. Hearing that must have been hard for him.

"Do? There's nothing else_ to_ do," Rossi said. He, Emily, Morgan, Hotch, Payton, and I were all standing in the police station in front of a computer monitor. "The parents can ID the voice."

"Are you serious?" Emily said incredulously.

"_No, no, sir_," Garcia pleaded. "_They can never hear this_."

"It'll be the fastest way to figure out who we're looking for," Rossi explained.

"There's gotta be another way," Emily said.

"DNA?" Payton suggested.

Hotch seemed to think this over very seriously. Next thing we knew, we were talking to the Owens, Mr. Vaughan(the hard-faced man), and Mr. Vaughan's friend, Mr. Mannan.

"My feeling is, by the time they get the results back, it would be too late to save whoever they still have," Hotch explained. I stood between him and Rossi. "It's up to you."

"This message—what did it record?" Vaughan asked. He still seemed unemotional. Unemotional, but worried.

"It's the…last moments of one of your daughter's lives," Hotch said with difficulty.

"Oh my God," Mrs. Owen sobbed. Her husband put his arm around her. "Oh-h."

"If you choose to wait, you can make a public appeal to the media," JJ said from where she sat, leaning on a window sill.

"Either way, we're still looking for one of your daughters," Rossi told them.

"Live appeal…I don't think that's a good idea, Jack," Mannan said.

"Why not?" Hotch asked.

"Because we know they're set up to see the reaction of the parent. Check for signs of guilt," Mannan explained, but I didn't think that was the real reason. I exchanged glances with Emily, Morgan, and Reid.

"Is that true?" Mrs. Owen asked.

"In some cases," Hotch told her.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, I can't do this. I'm…sorry," she took a few steps back and walked away, clutching onto Mannan's arm as she passed him.

Everyone crowded around the monitor.

"Go ahead, Garcia," Hotch said.

Begrudgingly, the tech analyst played the message.

"_Please…please—no—please, please stop it! Just STOP IT! STOP IT!_" the first girl said.

"_Don't fight them_," the second one told her. "_Don't!_"

"_Please, God, stop!_"

"_Don't show them you're scared._"

"_Get—off of—me! Please! Help me, please! God, stop it! Daddy, help me, please! Please! Eh-heh—eh-heh! Daddy, help me! Please, daddy! Help me!_"

We listened to it a second time. And I almost couldn't stand it. My eyes welled up a little. I felt Rossi put his hand on my shoulder.

"Pl-play it again," Mr. Owen asked.

"Mr. Owen," Hotch started in a soft voice.

"That's not Katie," he sniffed. "I know her voice; that's not her. That's not Katie."

"Bruce…"

I looked up and saw Mrs. Owen standing by Mannan and Vaughan.

"Mrs. Owen, I'm so sorry," Emily said.

Mrs. Owen held her finger up. JJ looped an arm with her for comfort.

"No," her husband said, still in denial.

"Please," her voice was a quiet squeak because she was crying so much.

"No, Laurie. It's okay. It's not her."

Vaughan looked up. "Bruce…"

Mrs. Owen keeled over into JJ and Mannan's arms.

"No, Jack. Jack. Jack, it's _not_ Katie, right? You know—"

"Bruce, Bruce."

"Jack. Jack, it's _not_ Katie."

"Bruce," Vaughan whispered, "it's Katie."

"No, no it's n—oh, Jack, please."

The fathers embraced each other and I had to leave the room. It was too much for me. I needed some fresh air. So, I walked past the desks and ringing phones and made it to the door. I leaned against the front window and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. When I opened my eyes, my vision was obscured with tears. I blinked and one fell down my cheek. I took another deep breath and then the door opened.

"They told me I'm too sensitive for this job… I think I'm starting to believe it," I laughed bitterly as the person stood next to me. I didn't have to look to see that it was Rossi.

"Sometimes…it's good to be sensitive," he said.

"But being a blubbery mess isn't gonna help," I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand.

"Would you rather be a blubbery mess than an unemotional robot?" Rossi said, his hand finding its way to my shoulder again. Before I could answer, he said, "Speaking of Hotch—" I laughed a little "—he mentioned that something happened to you when you were younger. Something similar to this case."

I sighed and bowed my head. "Yeah," I nodded, tilting my head to look at him.

"Care to tell me?"

"I…" I sighed once more. "When I was fifteen…my best friend and I went out to the movies… We saw these two older guys…they must've been eighteen or nineteen. My friend…" I gulped, "Cassie…she came up with the idea to flirt with them. So…we went up to the guys…and we twirled our hair and pushed our chests out… One of the guys…he-he had a scar on the side of his face… He kept looking at me. Th-then the guys asked what movie we were going to see. They snuck into the theater with us and invited us to go to a party afterward. Cassie's parents were out of t-town, and we were going to sl-sleep over at her house, so we knew we w-wouldn't get caught… The guys drove us to their house, but…there was no party. Th-that didn't seem to bother Cassie too much. I-Immediately, I knew something was wrong. But before I could say anything…they served us alcohol. I pretended to drink. But Cassie…she was gone. The guy with the scar…he-he told his friend to take Cassie upstairs. I…I couldn't do anything," the tears kept falling. "I could hear her giggling…then she started yelling for him to stop. The guy with the s-scar tried to distract me, but… I still hear her voice sometimes," I looked at Rossi. "I can still hear her screaming."

Rossi didn't say a word. He just moved his hand from my nearest shoulder to the farthest. I took a moment to try and compose myself, but I was shaking with my sobs. I pressed my forehead into the side of his neck and smelled him. He still smelled like expensive, Italian cologne. I felt bad for crying on his jacket.

"The guy with the scar was trying to crawl on top of me when the screaming stopped," I said, straightening up. Rossi still held onto my shoulder. "I…broke his nose and kicked him in the groin. H-He shouted for his friend to stop me…to kill me as I ran from the house… I flagged down a car and… Thank God that woman had a car phone… The two guys tried to burn C-Cassie's body in the firepit behind their house…but the police got there before they got it started," I wiped away my tears and looked up at the stars. "We moved from Boston to Maine after that…so I could start over again. So I could forget." I shook my head, "I'll never forget."

"Do you think you'll be able to work on the case?" Rossi asked after a moment's silence.

I sighed for the last time. "I hope so."

* * *

The next morning, I went with Reid, Morgan, and Rossi to Jack Vaughan's house. Apparently, when I was out taking deep breaths, they had decided Lindsey and Katie were held in a secluded area where no one could hear them screaming.

We searched through Lindsey's drawers, not finding much, which was strange. When I was her age…before the incident…I had so much stuff.

"What happened to Lindsey's mother?" Rossi asked.

Vaughan and Mannan were watching us through the doorway.

"Does it matter?" Mannan asked.

"…Does to Lindsey," Rossi said.

"It's called 'victimology'. I-It helps us understand more about Lindsey," Reid explained.

"How?" Vaughan asked.

"How she carries herself. How she interacts socially with others," Morgan added.

"She's just like any other fifteen year-old," Vaughan said.

"No she's not," I said tiredly, opening her closet door.

"I'm sorry?"

"Everything in our house is an externalization of ourselves," Reid said.

"This room isn't what you'd expect of a teenaged girl," Morgan said. "No JT posters… No framed pictures… No journals. No cuddly toys."

"Walls are a mute tone," I said, closing the door. "All this suggests that Lindsey keeps herself hidden. She's shy and…" _just like me after…_ "shares very little with others."

"Except to one person—Katie," Reid said. Just then, his phone rang. "Garcia?"

"All that from this room, huh?" Mannan said as Reid walked past them for some privacy.

"Is she wrong?" Rossi asked.

Vaughan just continued to watch us, his face stony. Then the two men left to go check up on Reid. Morgan, Rossi, and I followed them and watched as Reid walked through them to come stand behind Rossi.

"Doesn't look much like a home," Rossi said. "State of the art security system, but the furniture looks rented."

"Walls are bare of any real art," Morgan added from right next to me. Vaughan seemed to be avoiding his gaze. "Shelves are void of any family photos."

"Spyware wipes your computer history daily," Reid said.

"What are you getting at, Agent?" Mannan asked.

"In the recording, Katie said what you'd expect of any teenager about to die. She _begged_ for her life," Rossi explained. "Lindsey did exactly the opposite."

"Which is what?" Vaughan asked quietly.

"Lindsey's emotional response and the words that she chose to say in a situation as violent as the…" I sighed, "the one she faced strongly suggest—"

"Look," Rossi interrupted me, holding up his hand. "Lindsey was either coached," he sounded angry, "or she's experienced sexual abuse before."

"Oh, you son of a bitch!" Vaughan shouted, trying to lunge at Rossi, but Mannan held him back. "No—let me—" In his effort to get out of the larger man's grasp, Vaughan grabbed his jacket and it rose up, revealing a…

"Gun!" Morgan shouted, holding up his own weapon. We all got ours out as well. "Put your hands where I can see them! Both of you! Do not move!"

"Stop! Okay, okay," Mannan said, turning around slowly as Vaughan held his hands in the air. "Calm down! I'm going to reach into my pocket…and I'm gonna take out a badge…" Mannan did as he said he would. "Just calm down!" He held up his badge. "'Kay?" And then he opened it up. "United States Marshal," Mannan put the badge back into his pocket, but didn't bother to pull his jacket down, which bothered me. "Jack and Lindsey are under my authority."

"Which is what?" Rossi asked.

"Witness Protection," I said, putting my gun down. Rossi just stared in disbelief.

* * *

Hotch walked into the darkened house. We all surrounded Vaughan as he sat down in the living room.

"What's going on?" Hotch asked.

"Jack's in Witness Protection," Morgan told him.

"Ten years," Rossi continued. "Must be real important."

"Why didn't you tell us immediately?" Hotch rounded on Mannan.

"Because he's a state's witness whose identity needs to be protected at all costs," Mannan explained. "You know, Jack. This may not have anything to do with—"

"With what?" Rossi cut him off. "His past?"

"Jack, every person in this room—with the exception of him—" Hotch looked at the marshal, "is here for your daughter."

Vaughan looked around before saying anything. "If this…does have anything to do with me, they'll be coming out of Boston." I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. "Irish-American. Two or more men."

"Let's get them back to the station and keep them there until this is over," Hotch said. "Hunter—may I have a word with you?"

I looked up and nodded. Hotch led me into the kitchen as Vaughan got up.

"I understand that this is hard for you—"

"Hotch," I sighed, but he ignored my interruption.

"—But if you need to take a break, I can drop you off at the hotel."

"I just took a break two weeks ago," I reminded him. "Hotch, I have to deal with this one way or another. It's just…it's hard."

He stared down at me, his eyes filled with scrutiny from under his dark brows. He looked like he wanted to say something, but held his tongue instead. "Okay."

I walked out and saw Rossi waiting for me at the front door. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I said, going outside to avoid a difficult conversation. I followed Reid and Morgan, who was leading Vaughan to one of the SUVs outside. JJ, Emily, and Payton were outside with the Owens. The father took one at look at Morgan's hand, which was clutching Vaughan's elbow.

"He's under arrest?" Mr. Owen asked.

"No, he's not under arrest," Emily's words couldn't stop him from walking forward to confront Vaughan, though.

"Mr. Owen, please don't make this harder than it is," Payton said, stepping in front of the angry father.

"You're lyin' to me," Mr. Owen said.

"No," Emily assured him.

"Jack!"

"Rossi," Morgan said, looking behind him.

"Mr. Owen," JJ piped up, "please calm down."

"Let _go_ of me—what's goin' on?" Mr. Owen asked loudly. "I wanna know what he did to my Katie."

"'Kay…'Kay first you need to calm down sir," Morgan said as Rossi helped Vaughan into the SUV. Morgan was trying to keep Mr. Owen back.

"Don't tell me to calm down! Why are you arresting him?"

"Sir, we're just asking him questions. That's it."

"About what?" Mrs. Owen tried to ask.

"Jack!" Mr. Owen tried to get past Morgan, Hotch, and me.

"Sir, that's enough!" Morgan said, grabbing him.

"If you have _anything_ to do with this, I _swear_, I will kill you!"

"That's enough!" Morgan said, shoving him back. "Sir! That's enough!"

Finally Mr. Owen calmed down and embraced his wife. I sighed and walked to another SUV.

* * *

Mr. Vaughan sat against a window the next day, popping pills.

"Who do you work for?" Hotch asked.

"The McCrellan Corporation from Boston," he said.

"I love how you guys sell that," Morgan said. "By 'corporation', you mean the mob, don't you?"

"No one's been able to get anything on him," Mannan said from right next to him.

"'Til now," Rossi said.

"It's 'cause they murdered anyone who was a threat to them," I raised my eyebrows. "Civilians and cops alike." Vaughan didn't look familiar, but I had heard of the McCrellans. Morgan looked at me from where he sat leaning on a desk. "I used to live in Boston." Hey, sometimes I'm good at masking my true emotions. A good night's sleep doesn't hurt, either. I think Hotch and Rossi are the only ones who know about my story.

"Is that what you did, Jack? Did you eliminate the threat?" Hotch asked. Vaughan fidgeted with his pill container. "Do those pills help the memories or they just hide the real Jack?"

"…The only thing that keeps me alive is Lindsey," Jack said, avoiding everyone's eyes at first. But then he looked up at Hotch.

"What they did to Katie, do you think that was a message to you?"

"'F it is, it's working."

"You recognize the method?"

"I didn't send the messages, I just went straight to da source."

"In two weeks time, the McCrellan brothers will face trial," Mannan said proudly.

"Looks like the McCrellans are gonna walk," Morgan said as Payton's phone rang.

"… Where?" Payton asked. "Okay, thanks," he hung up and looked at Hotch. "You were right. They just found something in an abandoned house." Payton walked over to the glass map that Reid had drawn all over.

Vaughan started to rise. "Lindsey?"

"Where, exactly?" Hotch asked.

He pointed to under one of the white triangles. "Here. On the outskirts of town."

"It's still in the comfort zone," Reid said, leaving me to wonder how much I had missed.

"What does that mean?" Payton asked.

_Oh, good. I'm not the only one in the dark here._

"It means the unsubs are local," Rossi explained. "Still here."

"Let's go," Hotch said.

"Agent Hotchner,"Vaughan started, but I didn't stick around to listen in. I followed the other members of my team outside to the parking lot.

* * *

"What is it to the dumpsite, five miles?" Hotch said as we got out of the SUVs outside the abandoned house. We were all wearing our bulletproof vests—which meant shit was going down.

"Six-point-two miles south," Reid told him.

"Why?" Payton asked as we walked up to the porch.

"Why didn't they dump Katie's body in the other side of town?" Morgan asked from behind me.

"And risk heading out on the open road while everyone was out looking for the girls?" Emily added.

"Something forced them to move on," Rossi said as we walked under the yellow tape held up by the policemen and women.

We pulled on our latex gloves before entering the building. Besides the neat array of empty bottles on a short wall, the place was a mess. Broken glass, smashed-up cans, cigarette butts, and blood everywhere. A pair of flats, a belt, and a pink bolero lay deserted on the stained carpet. I noticed a cell phone on the ground as well and picked it up. On the back were two letters written in gem stickers: "KD".

"Katie's cell phone," I said.

"Two different sets of footprints," Morgan said, looking at the ground. "So two unsubs."

"Jack said there'd be two of them," Payton pointed out as he crouched down.

"Emily, stay in here," I said to the other brunette girl, handing her the phone. "I'm gonna go check out one of the other buildings. I have a feeling the blood doesn't end here."

"Okay," she said, a little surprised. As I left, I could hear her talking about the butts, but I didn't pay attention.

I walked out of the house and down to the last house on the left hand side, starting the farthest away. I walked in the first room, found nothing, and went up the stairs, my hand on my gun just in case we had a surprise visitor. There were a few sets of doors that were slightly ajar, but something drew me to the one by the corner. There were some blood spots on the carpet in front of it—big surprise—and I grabbed onto my Glock. I remained still for a moment, and then charged through the door, holding my gun up and surveying the room. And what I saw almost made my mask falter.

"Guys, last house on the left," I said into my comm. device, "second floor. I've got something." Putting my gun away, I stepped forward. There lay the body of a teenaged boy. His light brown pants were stained with blood and his hands were trying to cover up the stab wounds on his chest. One of his hands had teeth marks on it. Blood had dripped from the corner of his mouth and his clouded eyes stared into the corner of the room. Next to his leg lay a flip phone, so I crouched down and picked it up.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Rossi coming to examine the body as well. I wondered how he got there so fast. Maybe the team had found something and searched the other houses as well.

"He was stabbed three times," I reported as Rossi knelt down beside me.

"…Look at his face," he said.

_I'd rather not, thanks…_ "Scratch marks. Both arms. And on his hand, a bite mark. These are all defensive wounds."

"At some point for him, things…got out of hand," Rossi safely guessed. "He wanted out."

"And whoever he was with wasn't about to let that happen," I looked at my co-worker.

"And makes a run for it, and…gets stabbed in the process. It's dark…they can't find him," he looked at me, but I had looked back at the body.

"They think he's gone to the police, so they have to think fast," I gave him a fleeting glance—fleeting because he was looking at the body again. "So they take Katie…and they dump her across town."

"And to maintain some amount of control…they take Lindsey," he looks at me, finally making eye contact.

I looked back at the boy. "This is one of our unsubs… We just need to find his friends."

* * *

"A teenager did this?" Vaughan asked.

"He was involved," Rossi said. We were back at the station, sitting in a questioning room.

Vaughan walked over to the window behind us. He stared at the bulletin board through the blinds. JJ was putting up a picture of the boy's face.

"So, do you think she's still alive?" he asked.

"I do," Rossi said. "But I also think you should let us do our job. Can you do that?"

Vaughan kept staring at the bulletin board and I think he nodded his head a little. Rossi stepped forward, gestured for me to follow, and walked out of the room.

A little while later, we gathered everyone to discuss the boy I found.

"Defensive wounds, bite indentations, scratch marks on his face, hands, and arms all indicate that he was involved in the murder and abduction of Katie and Lindsey," I said.

Payton looked at the picture. "He's just a teenager," he said, shaking his head.

"So were the Lords of Chaos," Emily pointed out. "Three teenagers bewitched by a boy named Kevin Foster. Kevin persuaded his friends to murder their own high school teacher."

"Social dynamics of teenage boys," Rossi piped up. "In this case, intoxicated by drugs and alcohol. When worked up into a frenzy by a dominant male, the adolescent mind can be pushed _past_ what the _adult_ mind perceives as acceptable."

"What started out as a good time quickly devolved," Hotch said. "And Katie fell victim to the violent, drunken rage of a juvenile gang."

"We believe this unsub," Rossi pointed to the picture of the dead boy's face, "got scared and wanted out."

"And the dominant male, in order to maintain control, attacked him," Hotch said.

Just then, Reid walked in the room. "Douglas Silverman," he said, walking past to put a school picture on the bulletin board. "He's…eighteen years old."

"We need to interview kids in his class," Hotch told us. "Parents, teachers… Find out who his friends were."

"There's at least two or more boys," I said, turning to the cops. "One's older—early to mid-twenties."

"He'll think of himself as a real badass," Morgan said, swiveling his body to address the officers. "Somebody who broke the rules; defied the system."

"And have flunked or gotten kicked out of high school. Possibly the same one," Emily pointed at Doug's post-mortem headshot. "He'll also have a record: petty theft, larceny…"

"Well, Douglas Silverman's been missing for two days," Payton said in a skeptical voice. "How come no one's called?"

"It's a three day weekend," JJ pointed out. "His parents are out of town or he calls, says he's okay."

"And now that the weekend's over, I can tell you, with what happened, it's gonna end violently," Hotch looked at Doug's school picture.

* * *

"I_ have_ to. I can't afford to forget a face. His I've never seen," Vaughan said after Rossi and I flashed Doug Silverman's photo to him. He started pacing, whereas Rossi and I were sitting at the table. Off to the side sat Mannan and Reid.

"Maybe these guys…she didn't want you to meet," Rossi said. "Afraid of what you might say, or do."

"Lindsey and I don't have any secrets," Vaughan shook his head.

"That's not quite true, though, is it?" I asked.

"No, it is true. She knows who I am…what I was."

I raised my eyebrows. That's quite a thing to tell your child…

"Ten years ago, your wife died in a car accident… Is that why you turned state witness?" Rossi asked.

"I promised my wife on her deathbed that I would do whatever was necessary to protect Lindsey."

"Did you tell Lindsey it was supposed to be _you_ in that car? And not her mom?"

Vaughan stared him in the eye for a few seconds before whispering, "Yes."

"Why, then? With all that you taught her, would she allow herself to get caught up in this?"

"She wouldn't."

"What about Katie?" I asked in a cold voice.

"Lindsey protected Katie like, um…like a sister," Vaughan was staring through the window at the Owens, I'm sure.

"So, if a…a few boys pulled up curbside and offered Katie a ride…?" Rossi trailed off.

"Lindsey would've gone along…to make sure she was okay."

"Lindsey is still alive because of what you taught her."

Vaughan nodded. "I taught her to stay away from men like me."

There was a knock on the door before it opened, revealing Bruce Owen.

"I'd like to…speak to Jack, if I may," he said, holding the door as open as possible with his body. "To apologize."

I looked at Rossi, who looked at Vaughan.

"Sure," Mannan said. He, Rossi, Reid, and I vacated the room.

We split up. Reid went to a computer. Mannan went outside. Rossi and I sat down together.

"How are you doing?" he asked, examining me.

"I'm getting better," I said, which wasn't exactly a lie.

"He's taken my car," Mannan said, coming inside, nursing a bloody nose. "Bastard took my car."

"Great," I chewed my lip. Vaughan must have left his pills and punched him in the face.

The marshal took out his walkie-talkie. "It's Pat Mannan. All units-all units! I want an APB out on Jack Vaughan." He looked over at Reid, who was calling someone on the phone.

* * *

We drove up to meet the rest of the team by a construction site. Reid, however, stayed back at the station with Mannan.

"Jack's taken off," Emily said into a cell phone as she and Hotch came up to us.

"We heard," Morgan told her.

"Where's he gonna go? He can't know where Lindsey is," Payton said.

"No. But he might know who's got her," Hotch said.

"How?" JJ asked.

"You showed Bruce Owen Doug's photo, right?"

"He recognized him," Morgan said.

"Which means he knows who Doug's friends are."

"So now he's sent a psychopath after his daughter's killer," I rolled my eyes.

"Garcia's got a name," Emily said. "Ryan Phillips, twenty-eight."

"Let's get a unit over to Phillips' house before Jack turns up there," Hotch said.

"One thing's for sure—we know Ryan won't be there," Rossi said.

"We'd better figure out where he is before Jack does."

Next thing I knew, we were strapping our bulletproof vests on and getting ready to find Lindsey Vaughan.

"Three day weekend, you've gotta find a secure, private location. Where?" Hotch said, walking over to Morgan, JJ, and Emily.

"Army of cops and feds all over town. It's gonna be real hard," Morgan said.

"Every abandoned building, warehouse, lock-up—it's all been searched," JJ told our chief.

"Agents, it seems Jack just paid a kid named Taylor Coleman a visit—" Hotch's phone started ringing in the middle of Payton's talk "—Paramedics are working on him now."

"Reid, good news please," Hotch said as he picked up the call. I couldn't hear Reid, but I knew he was probably going on about something inconsequential. "Reid, where is he?" … "I'll meet you there, and Reid—be careful." Hotch hung up and looked at us. "MayfordHigh School."

* * *

We had just reached the school when a gunshot was heard. Quickly, we ran to the building and followed the sound of the fire.

"I think it came from in here," Morgan said from the front as we crossed the quad. He held his gun up at the pale yellow doors that led into the school itself.

"Go," Hotch ordered.

Morgan held the door open for us and we entered the school, guns at the ready. "Hang back, hang back!" he yelled at the cops behind us.

We walked past the blue lockers and an office. Suddenly, a wooden door opened up on us. Jack and Lindsey, holding hands, both walked out, stopping when they saw us with our guns up.

"Oh! Hey, hey," Jack said. He held his free hand up and Lindsey wrapped her arms around him.

We maneuvered our way around them and went into the bathroom. I thought about joining JJ and Emily in bringing them outside, but I figured the best way to deal with my demons was to go in the bathroom.

We walked past the urinals and found Reid staring in shock. On the ground, half in a stall lay the body of a young man. Next to him lay a small knife. He had been shot in the face and I closed my eyes—not (only) because it was a gruesome scene, the man's blood splattered on the wall. Because I felt a little relief. It was like the guy who killed Cassie was dead. I felt a single tear brim and I opened my eyes, allowing it to fall.

Hotch and Rossi stepped closer to body.

"You okay, Reid?" Morgan asked.

He stuttered for a moment. "I tried." His voice was but a whisper. "I tried, I mean, I…I couldn't…What's gonna happen to Jack?"

"Depends," Rossi said, "…how important a witness he is."

Morgan squeezed Reid's shoulder. We all walked out of the bathroom and Reid came out last.

"Hunter," Hotch pulled me aside. Morgan and Payton kept walking, but Rossi stopped and waited about ten feet away. "I just want to let you know that I'm very proud of you."

I nodded, finally able to give a genuine smile in the past couple days.

"We all have our issues with Boston," he sighed. I knew exactly what he was referring to. "I just hope that you have been able to overcome yours."

I nodded again. "I think I have."

* * *

Sorry it's been so long! I've been busy up the wazoo!


	8. Limelight

** I watched as** Rossi picked up some faxes. He slowly walked away, reading them.

"You've got something?" Hotch asked, nearly colliding with his colleague.

"Not sure," Rossi said. Curiously, I got up from my desk and walked over to them. No use in trying to hide that I was eavesdropping. "From an old storage unit." I looked at the graph papers in his hands before he handed them to Hotch. They looked like instructions. "Case agent from the Philly field office sent it to me."

"Somebody you know?" Hotch asked as Reid came over as well.

"She knows me," Rossi shrugged. "Y'know…"

"Ah…a fan," I winked, nudging him in the elbow. He just gave me look, so I smirked in response.

"Your world's a very crowded place, isn't it?" Hotch added, looking through the papers.

"You'd be surprised," Rossi looked down.

I tilted my head as I looked at him. Even though he had his shirt buttoned up most of the way, he still looked very sexy to me.

_Goddamn it, Hunter! You've gotta stop thinking of him that way!_

"This is detailed," Hotch said.

_Perfect! An excuse to look away!_

I held my hand out and he gave it to me. I made a face at the graphic drawings of dentistry tools and proper rope-tying techniques.

"Future tense—they're fantasies," Reid said from over my shoulder. I handed him the paper after briefly skimming it.

"That agent thinks it could be more than that," Rossi said.

"There's more of this?" Hotch asked.

"Few boxes in the field office," Rossi sighed. "I'd like to drive up there; take a look at the rest of the material; make a judgment from that."

"Take Hunter with you," Hotch said, looking at me.

_Ohhhhh, lord!_ My jaw dropped and I think my eyes were bugging out a little. Rossi looked at me and I tried not to look so surprised or antsy.

"I-I don't have to—"

"C'mon," Rossi said, grabbing my elbow and walking away. "Before he tells Reid to go too."

"So, do you not_ like_ Reid or something?" I asked as we finally got into Philadelphia.

"It's nothing personal," Rossi said, stopping at a red light. "I just don't want to sit in a car with him and his Peter Coyote books on tape."

I laughed and looked at him. "Sounds pretty personal to me."

"Plus, if I had to pick one person from the team to go on a three and a half hour road trip with, it'd be you," he said.

"Aw," I put my hand on my heart and stared up at the ceiling as he started the car again.

"So, how about those polar bears?"

"…Is that a sports team?" I asked, my eyes wide and my lips pursed.

"No, I mean the polar bears you're supposedly saving."

"Oh! Right—'cause I don't drive. Uh…I think the polar bears are doing pretty well."

"What's the real reason?"

I chewed my lip. "Okay…well, I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I mean, now I've gotten control over it and I'm fine. But when I was a kid, it was really bad. I took driver's ed, passed the written permit test, but the driving itself is where I had trouble and I just never finished my hours. And, you know, saving polar bears is a plus," I rambled.

Rossi nodded, and fortunately, we pulled into the parking lot for the FBI Field Office. After we checked in and got our passes, we walked down to the agent's office in question. Of course, with Rossi being there, we got quite a bit of attention.

"How do you get used to the staring?" I asked, trying to walk next to him.

"You learn to ignore it. But I hardly doubt it's just me they're staring at," he smiled and we found the agent's office.

She was an older woman with dark auburn hair and she was talking on a headset when we stopped in her doorway. I noticed she had a raised mole about an inch away from her chin and, I know it's bad and I'm going to hell for it, I just couldn't stop staring at it.

"Just…just get me that match," she said, ending her call once she noticed us. She put her headset on her desk and walked over. "David Rossi in _my_ office. Somebody pinch me," she held her hand out.

"You must be Agent Morris," he said politely.

"Jill, please," she said. I could tell from the way she stared at him that she must have had a crush or something, which made my blood boil. Because of that, I decided she was always gonna be "Morris" in my book. "And can I get you anything? Coffee?"

_Don't worry. If he needs some chopped liver, I'm right next to him._

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like for Agent McCarthy and I to get to this," Rossi said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

I fought back the smirk that was creeping onto my face. He didn't seem too fond of her and it made the fifteen year-old inside of me happy.

"Agent McCarthy," Morris nodded her head at me and I returned the motion. "Thank you both for coming," she said, her eyes going right back to Rossi's. "You won't be disappointed."

"What other materials do you have?" I asked.

"Well, we found assorted artwork, torture porn, bondage. But what strikes me…is the prose," Morris said, stepping between us to lead the way. "It _screams_ of high-order sexual predator. I think we're onto something big."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Rossi said as Morris took a clipboard from someone. "I assume you ran the name of whoever rented the unit."

"Yeah, the name was fake—Louis Ivy. There's no record of such a person."

"Did he pay in cash?" I asked.

"'Til he went into a rears," she handed the man his clipboard back after writing on it. "Six months without a payment and the owner is allowed to auction its contents."

"What I've read so far suggests an orderly personality," Rossi started. Morris opened up the door to a small room. "Not likely to miss payments."

"Ah, he screwed up," Morris said, holding the door open for us to see the stacks of evidence boxes sitting on the table. "They all do eventually, right?"

"…Maybe I _will_ take that coffee," Rossi said slowly, walking into the room. I noticed the giant smile on Morris's face. She closed the door behind me and left us to put on our purple latex gloves and go over the evidence.

After hours of examining, Rossi went to tell Morris that we weren't going to take the case. There was nothing to convince us that he had acted out on his fantasies. I was sad when Rossi buttoned his white shirt up all the way and put his jacket back on.

He came back minutes later with a small baggie in his hands. He held it up and looked at me.

"What is it?" I asked, ready to get in the car and go back to Virginia.

"Hair," he said. It seemed like he was hiding his true thoughts. But I didn't pry.

"_Hair?_" I raised my eyebrows and got closer. There were indeed some blonde hairs in the baggie.

"Morris 'found' it in one of the boxes. I just called the team. We're taking the case."

I sighed. I didn't really want to stay here with Rossi's biggest fan. "Okay."

"You don't seem too excited," he smiled.

"And you were just the face of enthusiasm earlier," I cocked a brow.

"C'mon. It's late," Rossi beckoned. "Let's find a hotel."

* * *

"…You're sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay."

Rossi turned around and looked at me after he gave his credit card to the clerk. I walked closer to him, ready to just lie down and go to bed.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"They're pretty booked tonight. Only one room left," he pressed his lips together.

"That's fine," I shrugged. My eyelids were growing heavy.

"Only one _bed_."

I silently made an O with my lips. "At this point, I don't even care. I just want to sleep."

Rossi nodded and turned around. The clerk gave him back his card and slid two hotel keys across the countertop. Keys in hand, we walked to find the elevator.

"If there's a couch, I'll sleep on it," I told Rossi. I didn't want to make things uncomfortable for him.

"Hunter, I think I can handle sleeping in a bed next to you," he said as we entered the elevator. "Are _you_ okay with that?"

"Yeah," I nodded, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I'm flexible. I don't care."

"As long as you don't hog the blankets, I think we'll be just fine," Rossi smiled at me.

From the elevator, we walked down a hallway, finding door number one hundred and forty-seven. Rossi held the door open for me and I walked in. It was a boring old hotel room with a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room.

"I'll take a shower now," I said. "I usually take them at night."

"Okay," Rossi nodded.

I took my go-bag into the bathroom and pulled out my pajamas—(of course) a pair of booty-shorts and...

_Shit! I forgot to bring a shirt!_

Angrily, I stripped off my black v-neck and tan slacks before turning the shower on. Quickly, I reached into my bag and pulled out a bottle of strawberry scented shampoo.

_I really hate hotel shampoo…_ I thought to myself. _There's never enough and it smells weird._

After washing my hair and body, I turned the shower off and reached for one of the hotel towels. I dried myself and then changed. I tried to pull the shorts down in the back and cursed myself for packing these. But then again, I wasn't ever expecting to room with Rossi.

_Ah! Rossi! He must have a shirt I can borrow!_ I cast a glance back at the v-neck and hoped I wouldn't have to put it back on after I just took a shower.

Sighing, I put a bra on (because I always felt the need to sleep with one on) and wrapped the towel around my chest and collected my clothes. I put them into my go-bag and opened the door a smidge.

"Uh, Rossi?" I called out. The lights were off, but I could tell Rossi was watching TV. I heard the bed squeaking and figured it was him getting off the bed.

"Yeah?" His footsteps neared.

"Do you, uh, have a shirt I can borrow or something?"

"Uh…"

"Sorry. I know it's weird, but it appears that I have come unprepared," I said, my cheeks getting red.

"It's fine. Hang on a second." Rossi's footsteps disappeared briefly before coming back. "Will this work?" Through the crack in the door, I saw him holding up the undershirt he had been wearing earlier that day.

"Yeah. Thanks. I'm sorry—" I said, taking the shirt.

"Don't worry about it," he interrupted.

"Thanks," I said again, closing the door. I unwrapped the towel and put the shirt on over my now damp hair that was tied in a messy bun. The shirt was still warm and smelled like him. I made sure to roll up the hem of it so he'd be able to tell I was wearing at least _something_ other than underwear. I hung the towel over the shower curtain, grabbed my bag, and shut the lights off as I left the room.

I set my go-bag next to Rossi's on the ground. Turning around, I saw Rossi sitting on the bed over the sheets. The lights from the TV screen illuminated his body. Surprisingly, he was wearing a pair of black basketball shorts and a white long-sleeved shirt. I figured he'd be more of a silk-pajama-set fellow. Smiling, I walked over and crawled into the bed. Although he tried to hide it, I knew he saw my shorts and I felt self-conscious.

"Do you mind if I watch the news? Will it bother you?" he asked as I curled up into a ball, hugging a pillow.

"Nah. I can sleep through anything," I smirked. "But thanks for asking."

* * *

I woke up the next morning to the strong smell of cologne. I opened my eyes and jumped back when I saw how close my face was to Rossi's neck.

"Good morning."

"Gah!"

_Thump!_

Rossi's voice had scared me so much, I fell off the bed.

"Ouch! Pain…pain…"

"Are you okay?" Rossi scrambled from the bed and crouched in front of me as I slowly sat up.

"Yeah, I just hit my head," I frowned, touching a hand to the growing bump on the back of my skull.

"Here, let me—"

"I'm fine," I told him as he tried to get closer. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to handle being that close to him while conscious.

"You sure?" he raised his dark brows and stared at me.

I got distracted by his dark irises and my breath hitched a little. The throbbing pain on the back of my head brought me back to reality. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay, just…get some ice, alright? I'm gonna take a shower," he said, obviously not buying that I thought I was fine.

* * *

"Is this everything from the unit?" Hotch asked after we all met up in the room at the field office.

I didn't listen to Morris's negative answer because I was trying to avoid Rossi's gaze. I felt a little strange after what happened that morning and I'm pretty sure he did too.

"What else was there?" Emily asked.

"Some books, albums, toys…" Morris told her.

"Toys?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah, old stuff, like from his childhood. We were able to lift some prints, but AFIS was a bust." It bothered me how she said all the initials instead of like "A-Fis" as it's commonly pronounced. "He's not in our system."

"Morgan, Prentiss, go back to the units. See what else you can tell us about the man," Hotch ordered.

"I'll get you directions," Morris told them.

"We have to establish if this man's taking his fantasies to the next level," I said, still doubtful about that hair that Morris allegedly found in the storage unit.

"We can use these materials, try to identify a signature and connect them to any open cases," Hotch said, staring at the evidence boxes.

"On the surface, it reads like he wanted to try it all," Reid pointed out from his seat at the table. "I-I think isolating any one aspect might be tough."

"Dig deeper," Hotch said. "Try linguistics. Look for patterns in the handwriting. Rossi, Hunter, and I'll take the images."

"Find the fetish, find the fiend," Rossi gave a wistful smile.

Lemme tell you, it's weird looking through some guy's porn magazine collection with your two older, male coworkers.

"This is the earliest one I found," Hotch regarded the _BOUDOIR_ on top of the stack. "1982. It's tame in comparison to the later stuff."

"Vintage," I said, bouncing my eyebrows.

"Think he was a collector?" Hotch asked.

"Or it was handed down," Rossi said.

"From his father?" Hotch exchanged glances with him.

Rossi sighed. "I can still remember my dad's less than skillfully hidden stash."

I smirked. I remembered the day my third-oldest brother came running outside the house, flying paper airplanes made from pictures of naked women. I got in the face with one of them, cried, went inside, mom found the pictures, freaked out, yelled at my dad… I was four at that time.

"But…this guy graduated to harder stuff," Hotch reminded Rossi. "The torture porn…it's brutal."

Rossi took in a rattling breath. "It brought out certain desires. The early exposure was a trigger. When I interviewed Bundy, he had a theory about pornography. He said, 'if you wanna stop people from becoming like me, don't burn _Catcher in the Rye_—'"

"'Burn _Hustler_,'" Hotch finished for him. "I read your books too, Dave."

* * *

Reid found out that electric shock jumped the unsub's bones the most. Thanks to this, Garcia found a possible victim and JJ briefed us about her.

"This is Dana Foster," JJ said, showing us a picture of a smiling, older blonde woman. "She's a thirty-four year-old real estate agent from the suburb of Blue Bell." The picture changed to that of Dana, naked and electrically burnt, lying on a dirty basement floor. "She was murdered five years ago, when she went to meet a prospective buyer at a house in Bucks County." Now the picture was of her body at a different angle, then it changed to a picture of the burns on her chest. "Her nude body was found in the cellar and she was strangled and raped."

"And here's the torture behavior that Reid identified from the journals," Hotch said. "The contact wounds or burn marks, most likely the result of electrical current."

"Any leads on the buyer she went to meet?" I asked.

JJ looked at me and shook her head. "Fake name."

"Louis Ivy," Morris said. "Could this guy be any more perfect?"

I had to stop myself from laughing at Emily's confused reaction. "Were her clothes found, uh, at the scene?" Emily asked.

Morris turned to look at her.

"No, how'd you know?" JJ asked.

"He takes them as souvenirs," Morgan explained. "And he alters them to fit his own frame."

"So he's bisexual?" Morris asked.

"Uh, actually _most_ cross-dressers are heterosexual. It's fairly common in sexual predators," Reid told her.

"What about her hair?" Rossi asked before I could. "Was any of it missing?"

"Not that it was reported," JJ said, making the Gideon-face.

I noticed how Morris ducked her head.

"JJ, contact Garcia and widen the victim search," Hotch ordered. "Rossi and I'll go visit the crime scene."

Once Rossi and Hotch got back, Garcia gave us a call. Emily went to go get JJ and Morris and inform them that we found other victims.

"_Three females—aged thirty-one to thirty-eight. Discovered off freeways in Maryland, Jersey, and New York. All naked. Burn wounds consistent with the signature_," Garcia said.

"And he disposed of all the bodies in different states to avoid detection," I added.

"Garcia, when were these bodies discovered?" Hotch asked.

"_Uh, between '02 and spring of '03._"

"After the real estate agent, he changed his methods," JJ said in a slightly ragged voice.

"Fast learner," Emily commented.

"Four kills by the age of thirty," Morris said.

"And he was just getting started," Hotch added.

* * *

"We connected the three new bodies with missing person cases, so, uh, with a total of four victims on the board, we were able to narrow down the unsub's type," Reid told Morris. Morgan and I were sitting in the room, watching the agent look at the glass board with the pictures stuck on it.

"Thirties, attractive, Caucasian. Upwardly mobile?" Morris asked.

"Yeah," Morgan said. "College grads. Above average income. Career women."

"You establish a cycle?"

"Ten months between the realtor and the first of these victims," I said, pointing at the women on the board. "Then seven months. Then three months."

"He's practically doubling his pace every time," Morris looked back at me.

"As with most prolific killers, the cooling off period tends to shorten after each murder," Reid said.

"Last known victim was found almost five years ago," Morgan pointed out.

She whipped around. "Five years?" Morgan nodded. "So could he have stopped?"

"No, not this guy," I said. "It's more likely we just haven't found the bodies yet."

"And there might not even _be_ bodies, per se. I, uh, we know that he wrote extensively about creating a homemade incinerator," Reid said.

Morris nodded. "So how many are we talking? Ball-park."

"Extrapolate the cycle in the last five years, he…will have killed approximately nineteen more women."

Morris got a strange look on her face—like she was _happy_ about this. "That's great stuff, guys. Keep me posted," and she walked out the door.

I rolled my eyes as soon as she was gone. Morgan and Reid were giving her weird looks and I smirked.

"She does know we _don't_ work for her, right?" Morgan asked.

* * *

While Rossi, Emily, and Hotch gave the profile, I met up with JJ. We flipped on the TV and found people getting ready for a press conference with Jill _freakin'_ Morris.

"Are. You. _Kidding_ me?" I slapped my forehead and sunk into a chair.

"I'll go get Hotch," JJ sighed. She came back shortly, just as the conference was starting

"_He's an individual we believe to be currently active in our community. If not for certain evidence brought to our attention in recent days, he may well have continued to operate without our knowledge. We're still investigating more specifics—_"

"You know about this?" Hotch asked Rossi, who slowly shook his head.

"_But now that he is on our radar, you can rest assured that we _will_ find him and bring him to justice._"

Hotch left the room that we were in to go tear Morris a new one. I wanted to eavesdrop, but I thought better of it.

"I can't believe she did that," JJ muttered, turning off the TV.

"She wants to be in the limelight," Rossi said like he knew for sure. "Reminds me of myself when I was younger."

JJ and I watched as he walked away. We exchanged surprise glances.

"Did you know that she was trying to think of names for the guy?" JJ cocked a brow.

"I really don't like this lady," I shook my head.

* * *

"I had a nightmare the night she went missing," a woman told me. She had short red hair and two moles on the right side of her face.

Thanks to Morris's press conference, we were buried with "witnesses" and "leads".

"It woke me up, but…I forgot it instantly. You know how that happens." I nodded. "I know this sounds crazy… I feel like…if I could remember that dream…I'd know what happened to her."

We all had people around, talking about various missing women. I had half a mind to go up to Morris and rip her mole off. But just then, we got a call from the Philadelphia Police Department. Apparently, the unsub called in a tip, giving us the whereabouts of a "bleeder". Morgan and Emily were sent to the field to look at the body.

And they came back with news and pictures of a second one, buried right under the first.

"He calls in anonymously and _hands_ us two more victims. Why?" Morris asked, turning away from he timeline she had drawn on a whiteboard to look at me for an answer.

"You vowed publicly to bring him in," I folded my arms across my chest. "He may be reacting to _that._"

"To show you who you're dealing with. He's a narcissist," Rossi added. "He's preening."

"Good," Morris looked at the board for a moment. "I hope he keeps it up."

"_Not_ good," I furrowed my brow at her. "You _don't_ want that."

"People drop a breadcrumb every time you try something like this," Morris said.

"He'll drop _bodies_ too."

"If he's making it personal, he'll get sloppy and give himself away."

"Maybe that's what he wants," Rossi looked at her. For once, she didn't seem too pleased. I guess he called her out on manufacturing evidence (yeah, that hair in the baggie…it was hers). "It never tracked for me that his guy'd've faltered on that storage unit."

"Maybe he's decided it's time for the world to know his name," I nodded. We were on the same page.

"But if he wanted a coming out party, then why not just send his victims' photos, videos, _something_ to prove what he is?" Morris gesticulated with her hands.

I looked at the timeline. "He wanted us to start at the beginning. To chart his evolution."

"Bright childhood, grows into darkness," Rossi said. "He's got us chronicling every step."

"So if this is his story…" Morris looked at me, then Rossi, "what chapter are we on?"

"The final one. He's writing it as we speak."

Soon, Morgan entered the room. He was on the phone with Garcia. I wasn't really paying attention because I was looking over the case file.

"Go ahead," Morgan said. "Guys!" he walked over to us, holding his phone out.

"_Mimi Adams and Sara Coswell. You'll find them in the missing person files we flagged as possible victims_," Garcia told us.

"Thanks, mama, we're on it," Morgan said.

"_Wait—there's something else. Both women were reported missing four months ago…on the same day._"

"He's doing doubles," Rossi said as Morgan hung up the phone.

"Doubles," Morris repeated.

"The killer got bored, upped the stakes, and did two women in one day," Rossi looked at Morgan.

"Gerard Schaefer did it," Morgan said. "Took his cue from Bundy. Said it was twice as hard, but twice as much fun."

"And so he kills with impunity for years without the slightest bit of heat and he _needs_ a bigger fix," Morris said.

"Starts doing two a day," I nodded.

"Four months later, he still can't get off, so he opens his storage locker for us," Rossi said just as someone knocked on the door.

"Jill," said an officer. "_The Chronicle_ holding on two."

"Yeah, I'll take that in my office," she said awkwardly, leaving the room.

"Planning another press conference?" Morgan said to be a dick. I suppressed a laugh as she ignored the comment.

* * *

I had taken a break to go and get a hot chocolate near the coffeemaker. As I was walking down to meet the rest of my team, I noticed Rossi reading something in Morris's office.

"What is it?" I asked, entering the room. He was staring at an e-mail.

"This letter," he told me. "Did we have this?"

"No," I said, leaning down to read it. "I've never seen this before… Why would he send Agent Morris a letter?" And as Rossi said it, the answer hit me.

"She's his final chapter."

My jaw dropped. I started to feel a little pity for this woman. And when she didn't come back, Rossi and I were sent to follow the GPS on her phone to see if we could find her. Alive, preferably.

We went to a parking garage north of Center City and found Jill's phone on the ground near her car. I called Emily and told her before we examined the scene with the police.

"Blood here," I said, standing up from my crouched position. "Couple of drops," I followed the trail. "Looks like she was dragged."

"It shouldn't have happened," Rossi seemed guilt-stricken.

"Her guard was down. He tricked her into thinking she was meeting a friend," I said, still following the trail.

"I told her, 'slow down, check your ego, use your team…'"

I started to walk towards him. "There's no way you could've known she was gonna go off by herself."

"I did know," he said. "Sure as I know myself."

We met up with Reid, Morgan, Hotch, and Emily at the cyber café where the e-mail was sent from. Reid was doing his map-thing, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was too busy pacing back and forth. And the next thing I knew, Morgan was grabbing my elbow and dragging me behind him into an SUV.

We drove up to the unsub's house and followed the SWAT team going into the house. Based on the Dana Foster story, our first instinct was to go down to the basement.

"FBI!" Hotch yelled.

There Jill was, tied up to a wire mattress frame. In front of her stood a tall man in a flannel shirt. He had white-blond hair and facial scruff. He looked bored and seemed to accept his fate. Once he was on his knees, ready to be cuffed, I noticed the body of a young woman in nothing but her bra and underwear. She was lying on the ground. Hotch ran over and took her pulse.

"I need a medic," he said in his comm. device before turning around and hollering, "GET A MEDIC!"

Rossi went over to Jill and untied her. He consoled her with his words and a hug. I was glad to see that she was alive.

* * *

I waited for Rossi in the lobby of the hospital. Jill walked right by me without a word. She had some gauze taped on the side of her forehead. A moment later, he walked down.

"How is she?" I asked.

"She's in denial," he told me.

"Did you tell her about her friend?"

"Didn't even care."

I sighed and we walked outside, finding Jill talking to a bunch of reporters.

"Agent Morris!" a cop yelled from the other side of the parking lot. He must have been there to pick her up.

"Agent Morris, what made you believe there was a killer out there when no one else did?"

"How did his crimes go unnoticed for so long?"

"Have you been approached by any publishers?"

"Did you fear for your safety?"

"If I can just have one question at a time, I promise will get to all of them," _Morris_ said.

"Can I go back to hating her?" I muttered.

Rossi didn't say a word.

"Have you been approached by any publishers?"

"No."

"Can you tell us, Agent Morris, did you fear for your safety?"

"Absolutely."

Rossi started to walk over there, so I followed.

"What was it like to come face-to-face with a serial killer?"

"Is there a book deal in your future?"

We walked past, Rossi staring at her in disappointment. I shook my head and trailed him to the SUV. I was so ready to get away from this woman.


	9. Damaged

** "You-you want** _me_ to go with you?"

"Besides Garcia, you're the only one who knows about this."

"But…why do you want me to go with you?"

Rossi sighed and leaned against his desk. He had asked me into his shockingly messy office about the prospect of going up to Indianapolis with him. It was late and he was going to be my ride home since Hotch had gone to Connecticut with Reid to interview the infamous Chester Hardwick before he was executed. "I want you there."

"I—"

He held his hand up to silence me. I looked down at my lap and licked my lips.

"Okay," I nodded. "I'll go with you."

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Bring your go-bag, we're leaving tonight. And make sure you're more prepared than last time."

I blushed at the memory. As soon as we had gotten back from Philadelphia, I packed a pair of longer shorts and, like, three shirts. Just in case.

"That won't be a problem this time."

"Good. Let's go."

We left the BAU and drove to Garcia's house. Rossi said he needed to discuss something with her and would be right back. And when he came back he seemed angry.

"You okay?" I asked tentatively, after he'd buckled his seatbelt.

"Yeah. On my first case back, I called Garcia to get some information on this case. And there isn't enough in the file," he gestured to the file itself, laying in his lap. "It's been twenty years and the guy is still out there. I just…" he shook his head and closed his eyes.

"I understand," I said, putting my hand over his on the steering wheel. We hadn't left the driveway yet. I could feel his cold ring on my palm.

"Thank you," he said, looking at me.

"Mm-hmm," I smiled, removing my hand.

* * *

Rossi and I took a commercial flight to Indiana. We didn't talk much. We just slept.

Well…_I_ slept. Rossi just tossed and turned all night.

In the morning, we picked up a bureau SUV and drove. Once we got to Indianapolis, Rossi had a somber expression on his handsome face. He stopped outside of a brick house and stared at it. I figured it was the house where the kids used to live.

After awhile, Rossi got out of the car and leaned on it. He had been waiting for another person to come. Just as _his_ car arrived, I felt my phone start to vibrate.

"Excuse me," I said, walking around the front of our SUV so I could get inside and take the call. I pulled my phone out of my jeans and saw that it was from Morgan. Sighing, I pressed send and said, "Hello?"

"_Hey, where are you?_" he asked.

"Uh…" I wasn't sure how to answer that question. "I'm in a car."

"_And _where_ is that car?_"

"On a street."

"_What street?_"

"Uh…sorry, I wasn't really paying attention."

"_I'm done playing games, Hunter. Where are you?_"

I sighed and put my finger on the end button. "Indianapolis." Quickly, I hung up, opened the door and got out. I threw my phone on the seat and closed the door.

"I asked for Captain Giles," Rossi said as he shook hands with the young man.

"Yeah, he died a year ago," the younger man said. I noticed he had a case file with him.

"That's a shame," Rossi muttered. "He was a…good cop. Gary Willis, this is SSA Hunter McCarthy." I smiled and shook his hand. Willis nodded at me. "Do you have the Galen files?"

"Yeah, they're right here."

"You have anything new?"

"Uh, if we do, it's not in this file."

"You don't know?" Rossi looked irritated. "Well, who's working on this?"

"Twenty years is a long time cold," Willis said.

"When do you stop looking for a double murderer?"

"You know, I didn't know this was an FBI case."

"It isn't. Not officially. I was on the original scene the day it happened."

"You probably know more about it then I do, then," Willis gestured to the house with the file. "At least you had someone to talk to. No one's lived here since that day. There's a housekeeping service that comes in once a week, but otherwise it's empty."

Rossi looked away for a moment. "I know…I own it."

Willis and I both looked at him. I didn't know that much.

"What?" I furrowed my brow.

"I bought it at an auction two years after the murders," he explained.

"Why?" Willis asked.

"The money went to the grandmother. She raised them after…" Rossi stopped, like he was getting choked up. "Well, she died some years later and…they're still living over there at her house."

"That's pretty personally involved," Willis said. "You know these people or something?"

Rossi sighed. "No… It was the kids, I guess. I…kinda got attached. Look, I don't mean to be a hard-ass."

"It's no problem," Willis said. He pointed at the house. "We goin' in?"

Rossi shook is head. "No. I've spent years looking in that house. There's nothing there. Nothing we missed. No evidence we didn't find."

"Why are you here?" Willis asked.

Rossi blinked hard. "I was hoping you had something new." Willis looked down. "I'm sorry to bother you."

He looked at the house one last time. "No bother."

"Thanks for coming."

Willis walked to his car and drove off.

"Rossi, I…" I couldn't find the words. He looked at me, then back at the house. I left him alone to his thoughts and got back into the car as he called someone.

* * *

We went to the Palmer Hotel where we had checked in earlier that morning. I would have paid for my own room, but it was a pretty expensive hotel and Rossi said he didn't mind paying for us to share a room. This time, however, there were _two_ beds.

"I'm going to get a drink," Rossi said as we dropped off our bags.

"Okay," I nodded and watched as he left the room. I didn't know what to do, so after a few minutes, I left the room to look around.

I saw him sitting at the bar alone. He was playing with a glass in his hands. I stopped, contemplating whether to join him, and then went ahead, pulling up the stool next to him on the right.

"I was lonely," I muttered. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing your—"

"Don't worry about it," he told me, removing his hand to squeeze mine.

Just then, footsteps neared. I noticed Emily, JJ, and Morgan coming up to us. I wondered why they were here. I reluctantly slid my hand out from under his and put it on my lap. Rossi muttered something. Sounded like, "dammit Garcia".

"You're buying, I'm drinking," Emily said, smiling at him. She stood behind us. I noticed she had her bangs cut.

"I don't think any of us could afford this place otherwise," Morgan joked.

_So true…_

"I know I can't," JJ added.

"Go home," Rossi said, not even looking at them.

"We thought you might need some help," Emily said.

"You're wrong."

"But you brought Hunter with you."

I pursed my lips.

"C'mon, now Rossi," Morgan said. "Bounce some theories off us. Fresh eyes can't hurt."

"This isn't even a BAU case," Rossi shook his head.

"Maybe not yet, but I can make anything a BAU case if I want to," JJ said. "It's about paperwork and…I know the paperwork."

Finally, Rossi turned around and looked at the team. "Why do you care?"

They exchanged glances. "Because _you_ do," Emily said.

After some drinks were ordered, we relocated to a round table so we could all sit and listen to Rossi's story.

"I was here on a serial rapist in '88," he started. "It was pretty short work. Guy wasn't gonna win any IQ contests. The day after we, um…collared him…local detective was driving me to the airport and, um, hears a call on his walkie of kids…screaming in a house not far from where we were. He asks if I'd mind taking the job in with him. We were first on the scene. Inside we found—"

"Found _this_," Morgan put the case file on the table in front of him.

"…The axe had been left behind, but it had been wiped clean," Rossi continued. "Turns out, it belonged to the family… The, uh, oldest daughter, Connie…told me her father…bought it on Christmas Eve a few months earlier…to cut down a Christmas tree." He stopped and I felt myself tearing up. Rossi sighed. "Now I, uh…always associate the thing with Christmas."

_So that's why he said the thing happened on Christmas Eve when we were talking Caulfield that one time…_

"Never been able to put a…" he picked up his glass, but didn't drink out of it yet, "tree up myself again."

"So, he-he never hurt the kids at all?" JJ asked.

"Not physically," Rossi said.

"But he would have known that the kids were in the house," Morgan said.

"He only hurt the parents and then left."

"Okay, so, using a weapon he found at the scene and _not_ eliminating all of the potential witnesses. That makes him disorganized," Emily said.

"But he left no evidence, which suggests he's organized," I sighed.

"There was a fingerprint," JJ reminded us.

"But it was behind the bedroom door," Rossi pointed out. "I don't even think he-he knew it was there." He took in a ragged breath. "There sh-there should have been prints in other places, but-but they were wiped clean. A-An open back door, uh-uh the drinking glass left in the kitchen… And, that one good print…there's not a match anywhere." He breathed again. "I've been over this a million times. I…I keep thinking…if there was just _one_ more piece…one more thing to go on; the answer was _right _in front of me."

"He might be dead," Emily said.

"I have to be sure," Rossi looked at her.

"Rossi, if he's dead, you may never know," Morgan told him.

He looked down at the table. "When we arrived on the scene," he picked up the charm bracelet with the kids' names on it, "before any of the other units got there…I could hear them… Before I even got out of the car… It was a warm morning and the, um…the windows were open in the upstairs bedroom…and their voices…floated out into the street." Rossi got choked up and I wanted to reach out and grab his hand. "They were crying…and calling for their mommy and daddy… Three terrified children screaming for their murdered parents…" He let a bitter laugh out his nose. "I've seen so much death and pain. But that sound… It's been twenty years…and I can still hear them screaming _every_ night…crying… If I can't tell them for sure…that whoever's responsible will never do it again…that screaming might never stop."

* * *

We drove up to where the Galen kids now lived. The house was chipped and looked like it was in bad shape. On the stoop was a young woman with curly, shoulder-length blonde hair. She was wearing a blue sweater over a mauve shirt and jeans. She was staring at us and started to walk down the steps.

"Hi Connie," Rossi said to the woman as we got out of the car. "I brought the team with me—"

"You need to _stop_ this!" she snapped. A young man with long hair and a flannel shirt walked onto the stoop and was followed by a younger girl wearing a skirt and edgy tights.

Rossi was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"We thought that…if we didn't call you back the last couple times, you would just give up and leave us alone," Connie continued.

"…I know that it hurts. But I'm only trying to make sure someone pays for your parents' deaths."

"We don't care anymore! It's been twenty years! We need to be able to move past it!" Connie yelled. "Please!"

"I won't bother you kids again," Rossi said, turning back to the SUV.

"And you'll stop it with the gifts, too?" Connie added as we started to file back into the car.

Rossi stopped and turned back. "Gifts?"

"What are we s'posed to do with a bunch of toys that remind us of the worst day of our lives?"

"I never sent you any gifts."

Connie looked troubled and then turned around to look at her siblings before looking back at Rossi.

We were invited inside and the boy, Georgie, showed us some of the gifts.

"This is it?" Rossi asked.

"It's all I could find," Georgie told him

"We threw a lot of them away," Alicia, the younger girl, said.

"I wish you would've told me about this," Rossi said.

"We thought you were sending them," Connie said.

_Yeah, we figured when you were biting his head off earlier._

"First we…kinda liked it. Then it just became a bad reminder."

JJ took pictures of the pile of toys.

"These are incredibly cheap, aren't they?" Emily said, looking through them.

"Where would you even _buy_ toys like that?" Morgan asked.

"Or _why_?" I added.

"How did you receive them?" Rossi asked.

"They're usually left on the front porch at night," Connie answered. "Mine was found in my car this time."

"So he's following you."

"There was a pickup outside the…uh, where I work… I just…I always thought it was you."

"What do you remember about the pickup?"

"Uh, all I saw was the shape and the headlights."

"Morgan, obsessional crimes are your specialty," Rossi turned to the agent in context.

"Well, there's two kinds of obsessional offenders that would send gifts to survivors," he said. "Sadists, who wanna make the families keep reliving the crime. Or guilt-laden offenders, _desperately _finding some type of way to apologize."

"Sadists usually use something they know will remind the family of the person or the crime. Jewelry, newspaper clippings…" I added.

"These don't look like the kind of things he would send to inflict pain on someone," Emily said.

"So…guilt-laden," Rossi suggested.

"You know, they actually look like the kinda thing a _child_ would send."

"Okay. Well, it's rare, but an unsub who feels this much guilt sometimes commits the crime unintentionally," Morgan said. "They tend to be developmentally disabled, extremely low IQ offenders, and generally, well, they're physically large and they're very strong. Strong enough to hurt somebody accidentally."

"Like Lenny from _Of Mice and Men_," I nodded.

"Exactly," Morgan looked at me.

"He needed help, then," Rossi said. "There wasn't a fragment of evidence left at the scene. That's not low IQ."

"Well, usually they're assisted by an older relative and it's almost always a parent," Morgan said. "And this parent rationalizes that the unsub would never try to hurt anybody. See, in a lot of ways, this type of unsub…they're sort of…overgrown children. JJ, when you get Garcia on the phone, tell her that we're _not _looking for other homicides here." The blonde nodded. "Get her to look into a string of less serious offenses in this area. Parks, playgrounds…involving children, but not necessarily children that have been injured or abused."

JJ didn't look up from her phone. "'Kay." She left the room.

"See, an unsub like this, when they seek out children…they wanna play with 'em," Morgan said. "They don't really wanna hurt 'em. But it's their size. It frightens people."

"This could be that piece you were looking for," I said to Rossi.

Moments later, JJ came back to us, holding her phone out.

"_Okay, crime fighters. I got the information you were looking for, but it _may_ lead to more questions than answers,_" Garcia said.

"Oh, of course," Emily joked.

"_There are scads of open petty crimes, as described, in the very area of Indiana in the last couple years. But here's the rub—a large portion of them only occur in the last week of March and the first week of April every year. And _then_ it gets weirder. 'Cause the same kinda crimes crop up in Springfield, Illinois for the next two weeks. And then Des Moines, Iowa in the couple of weeks after _that."

"So, he's traveling," Morgan guessed.

"On a specific schedule for years?" JJ seemed skeptical.

Rossi looked at the toys in front of him.

"Maybe he's a salesman," Emily suggested.

"Who takes a developmentally disabled partner on a sales call?" Morgan asked.

"What about a carnival?" Rossi asked.

"Carnival?" Alicia repeated.

"We went to a carnival the day before," Connie said. We all looked at her. "It's the last thing we did as a family."

"Did anything happen…?" I asked.

"No," Georgie said.

"No, we had to leave early," Connie remembered. "There was this…_clown_ that…made me a balloon animal; it didn't even look right. But then he…kinda followed me around. Uh, he didn't really even do anything, but my mom got afraid, so we left."

"You never told _us_ that," Georgie said.

"I didn't even remember it until now…"

"Penelope, pull permits. Find out if this carnival is still in business," Rossi said into the phone.

"_Miss Betty is ready,_" Garcia muttered.

* * *

Once Garcia got the address, we made our way to the fairgrounds. All of the carnies were packing up and getting ready to leave.

"You guys, look around," Rossi said. "Prentiss, come with me."

We nodded and I set off with JJ and Morgan. Rossi and Emily walked up the proprietor of the carnival, who was yelling at some bald guy.

"I can't believe people actually pay good money to play these fixed games," Morgan said.

"_Men_," JJ corrected.

"'Scuse me?"

"It's not _people_, it's men. Right, Hunter?"

"Oh yes," I nodded.

"Is that a fact?" Morgan looked at me.

"Only a man would pay fifty bucks to win something only worth three," I explained, pointing at a booth with stuffed animals hanging from it.

Morgan had no rebuttal.

"Did you go to carnivals as a kid?" he asked after a few moments.

"Oh yeah, every year," JJ said.

"Same," I nodded.

"Yeah, me too," Morgan said. "First place I had a drink."

"Nice," I rolled my eyes behind my aviators.

"Clown," JJ said.

I looked in front of us and saw a large guy holding a trash-picking stick and a white garbage bag. On his face was make-up that only brought John Wayne Gacy to mind. When he noticed us staring at him, he dropped the bag and tried to make a getaway.

"C'mon," Morgan said, following the clown.

Of course, we lost him. But eventually found a large platform with a tarp covering the bottom of it. I pointed to the tarp and we pulled out our guns. Morgan signaled for JJ to go across from him. She picked up a stick lying on the ground and threw it off to the side. I stood between the two, facing the platform. They both ripped the tarp off and revealed the clown lying under it, his arms crossed as though he had practiced doing this before.

"FBI!" JJ pointed her gun at him.

"Daddy!" cried the clown. "Daddy!"

"Get your ass outta there right now!" Morgan ordered.

"Daddy!" the clown squirmed, looking around. I almost pitied him. "Daddy!"

"Let's go," Morgan put his gun away and started to pull the clown out from his compartment. "Let's go! Get down! Get down!"

"DADDY!" The clown continued to yell for help and next thing I knew, his father, the proprietor, was yelling for him not to fight. He had come with Rossi and Emily.

I took a sharp breath when I saw the red gash on the clown's scalp.

"Stay down!" Morgan shouted as he and Emily cuffed him.

I watched as Rossi held the proprietor, who was on his knees. I didn't focus on any of the yelling because the whole scene was very upsetting.

* * *

"Pretty boy. How was Connecticut?" Morgan asked as we entered the BAU and saw Reid sitting at his desk. We had just gotten back from Indianapolis and everyone seemed in better spirits. Especially, and thankfully, Rossi. He had gone to talk to the Galen children (who weren't exactly children anymore) before we left in the jet.

"Ultimately uneventful," Reid said. "Sir," he looked at Rossi, "there's, uh, somebody waiting to speak to you in your office."

We all looked at Rossi's office and saw the Kevin Lynch dude getting out of the chair. He stepped forward and went out to the railing outside of the office.

"Agent Rossi…" he started. "We need to talk. About, uh, Penelope… Man to man."

Emily and I exchanged confused glances. Rossi never really told me about what had happened when he visited her that night. I looked at JJ, who was beaming, and furrowed my brow at her.

"Man to man," Rossi repeated, ambling over to the stairway.

"What about Penelope?" Morgan asked. He loved that girl. And I thought it was adorable.

"I dunno," Reid said.

"_Garcia and Kevin, sittin' in a tree_," JJ sang, walking away.

I started to squeal a little.

"Get outta here. You serious?" Morgan asked, walking over to the coffee machine.

Emily laughed. "Just when I thought _nothing_ scandalous was ever gonna happen around here."

Reid seemed utterly perplexed. "What? What does that mean?"

"Did you hear JJ?" Emily pointed to the empty area where JJ had been standing.

"Th-the song _meant_ something? No! No, I missed it!"

"Y-yeah, it…"

"Emily…this is the point where you give up," I smirked.

"You know what, never mind," she sat down and I rolled my eyes.

"What?" Reid asked.

_I love working here…_


	10. A Higher Power

** "Three months ago,** a fire in the Shadyside Rec Center killed fourteen children," JJ told us as we assembled in the bullpen—everyone except Hotch. Rossi had gone to fetch him, but when he came back alone, he just said that Hotch needed some personal time. Instead of sitting, we were all standing around the table.

"I remember that," Morgan told her. I nodded because I had heard about it as well.

"What does that have to do with us?" Rossi asked.

"Well, over the past three months, there's been five suicides. All of them lost a child in the fire," JJ explained as Morgan grabbed the newspaper on the desk. "The last one was Paul Baleman. He was found electrocuted in his bathtub yesterday. I received a request for our help." Reid reached for her notes and read them.

"Why do they need our help?" I asked.

"Yeah. They're suicides," Morgan added.

"All of the suicides were within two weeks of each other," Reid said. "Could be some kinda pattern."

"Detective Ronnie Baleman, Pittsburgh PD thinks that something's going on," JJ said.

"Well, of course he does," Morgan commented.

"Why do you say that?" Emily said, keeled over the table looking at a notepad.

"He's related to that man, right?" Rossi said.

"His brother," JJ admitted.

"A cop who doesn't believe his brother committed suicide," Morgan said. He waited for someone else to talk. "C'mon, next case." Morgan turned around.

"What? Now, wait a second," Emily stopped him. "_Five_ suicides in the same neighborhood within months? That's a serious spike."

"Suicides don't spike after a tragedy," Rossi said, walking toward the window. I wondered who or what he was staring at.

"Quite the opposite, actually," Reid piped up. "Following World War I and II, right after Kennedy was shot, and following 9/11, suicides _plummeted_. Uh, within a society, external threats usually create group integrations."

"People come together," JJ said.

"So, if there's reason for doubt, which there obviously is…don't those families left behind have a right to know?" Emily asked.

"Yes, they do," Rossi said over his shoulder.

"Okay, _sure_, they deserve to know," Morgan said. "But let someone else tell 'em, like Social Services."

Rossi turned around. He looked at us all and sighed. "Contact Detective Baleman. Let him know we're coming."

* * *

"Hotch would never have taken this case," Morgan said. I don't know why he was so bitter… "And I say 'case' in the loosest sense."

"Profile the facts as they are without bias," Rossi said, walking along the aisle, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Isn't that what we do?"

"What facts, Rossi?" Morgan asked as the man in question stood behind my seat. "Look at us. We don't have a single file."

Rossi leaned over my seat, his cup right next to my head. "Okay, lemme help you out," he said. Emily and I stared at him, as he was right next to us. "Uh, jump right in, any time," he looked at Emily and then JJ. "Fact one: There are no files. So it seems, no case."

"But what if there is?" Emily stared at Morgan.

"One fire, fourteen deaths, five suicides," Reid recited.

"All the suicides are connected to the original fire," JJ said. She was sitting in one of the swivel chairs.

"And all exactly two weeks apart," I added.

"C'mon, Derek, you can't tell me that doesn't feel a lot like a pattern," Rossi said.

"And a timeline," Emily said.

"Right?"

Derek looked at the both of them and sighed. "A lot of people lost their kids in that fire… That's a whole world of grief. And for a few…suicide's the only way out."

"Or someone decided it was," Rossi said.

"Angel of death," I muttered.

"They made it look this way?" Morgan ignored me.

"What if they have?" Rossi asked.

Morgan sighed through his nose this time. "…Then we're looking for one very smart unsub."

"Who targets people in grief," Emily said.

"Angel of death," I repeated, hoping someone would hear me this time.

"And that would make them what?" Rossi asked.

"Someone who _thinks_ they're putting them out of their misery," JJ supplied.

"…An angel of death," Reid said.

My jaw dropped and I held my hands out in an _are-you-kidding-me_ sort of way. Then I just gave up and slapped them on my lap.

"Something wrong?" Rossi looked at me.

I gritted my teeth and pressed my lips together, shaking my head. "I only said 'angel of death', like, two times prior…"

"Speak up next time," he suggested.

I sighed. "Right…my bad."

* * *

We walked into the Pittsburgh Police Department and a man walked up to us.

"Agent Jareau?" he asked. "Hi, I'm Detective Ronnie Baleman." The other detectives stared at us disdainfully.

"Hi, uh, this is SSA Rossi, SSA's Morgan, Prentiss, McCarthy, and Dr. Reid," JJ introduced.

"Thank you, _all_ of you, for coming," Baleman said. He had a large nose and a balding head.

"Well, your colleagues don't look all that happy to see us," Morgan commented.

Baleman looked to the side, then back at us, shrugging his shoulders. "They didn't just lose a brother."

"I-I'd like to get started on all the files. W-We're gonna build what we call psychological autopsies to determine whether the victims killed themselves," Reid told him.

"Everything's in those boxes," Baleman pointed behind him. Reid nodded and walked over there.

"We'd also like to take a look at your brother's house," Emily said.

Baleman tilted his head diagonally and back up. "I'll take you there."

"I think it's better if you stay here," Rossi told him.

"It's _my_ case," Baleman was taken aback. "I…I brought you here."

"Technically, there _is_ no case," Morgan pointed out. "And if there was, you wouldn't be on it." This seemed to offend the poor guy.

"We need to profile the scene without bias," I said gently.

"I can use your help with these files," Reid said to Baleman. "It looks like there's…quite a few."

Without a word, Baleman walked over to him and JJ followed. The rest of us got into an SUV and drove to the crime scene.

* * *

"He wasn't _on_ antidepressants," Pam Baleman, the victim's wife, told us as we stood in her study. She seemed understandably worn-out and sad. "He wasn't depressed."

"Do you mind if my colleagues take a look upstairs?" Rossi asked.

She shook her head. "Ronnie kept it exactly as it was until you got here."

I was about to go up with Morgan and Emily, but Rossi grabbed my elbow. I looked at him and he nonverbally told me to stay there with him.

"Tell us about the fire," he said to Pam.

She looked like she was trying very hard to keep her composure and took a deep sigh. "It's the annual fall dance…for the kids," she said. "And…it's really popular. It's hard to get tickets… But the kids _love_ it."

Rossi and I nodded.

"Do you…personally _know_ any of the other families?" I asked.

"Who lost children?" Pam asked.

"…And who recently committed suicide as a result," Rossi added.

"Just questions…okay?" I could sense how upset Pam was getting by the look on her face.

Pam whispered something so quiet that I could hear it. A little louder, she said, "Paul wouldn't do this."

"What?" Rossi asked.

"Paul wouldn't do this," she said, even louder. "After all we've been through, he would _not_ leave us. Not like that."

I looked at Rossi, trying to tell him that we should stop the interview. But before I could do anything, Pam started pacing from the stairway, back to us. A few seconds later, Emily and Morgan came down the stairs.

"Uh, Mrs. Baleman, what did your husband do for a living?" Emily asked.

"He was a contractor," Pam said.

Emily and Morgan exchanged glances.

* * *

Another "suicide" happened. A mother, Beth Smoler, found hanging from the ceiling while her small child cried for her in the next room. JJ, Rossi, and I sat in the kitchen while Emily and Morgan were outside.

Rossi and I sat down and watched as the father carried the child away. JJ tried to hand the little blonde a toy before they left.

"Father found him in the high-chair," JJ said, putting the toy down. Reid stood in the doorway. "Not a scratch."

"Remember, the unsub believes he's on some kind of a mission. The child is of no importance to him," Rossi said. "You find a suicide note?"

"I haven't found one yet," said Reid, looking at the table.

"So, what are you thinking?"

"In every case, there was no evidence of a struggle."

"No breaking and entering," I added.

"I'm gonna need you and Emily to contact all of the families affected by that fire and inform them of what's going on," Rossi said to JJ. "They need to be warned immediately." JJ nodded and left the room. "The question is…how did he get in?"

"Beth must've let him in," I shrugged. "I mean, she _had_ to…"

Rossi paused a moment. "They _all_ let him in."

* * *

"This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. He's just arrived," Rossi introduced. We were all standing outside the department with Baleman.

"What have we got?" Hotch asked.

"Including extended families, over one hundred individuals within the Pittsburgh area were affected by that fire," Rossi answered.

"So this unsub's targeting _grief_, right?" Hotch asked.

"Grief?" Baleman repeated.

"An event," Reid added. "Uh, a single event in this unsub's life led him to end the life of someone he believes had to die. From that moment on, he created his own sense of morality—what is right and what is wrong—and he rationalizes what he did, that first kill over and over again, by targeting people that he believes can't be saved by anyone other than himself. He decides who lives and who dies and this gives him an all-consuming sense of power."

"So, they're not gonna stop anytime soon," concluded Baleman.

"Well, that's assuming there's someone to actually stop," Morgan said, making me want to punch him in the face.

"And if there is," Hotch started, "he's convinced he's on a mission of mercy. And even after he's caught, he'll maintain he did nothing wrong."

"He?" Baleman questioned.

"White male, mid-to-late thirties. He's polite; forthcoming. Doesn't stand out," Rossi said. "And we believe his victims, these families, are all…letting him in."

"My brother…his wife…weren't letting anyone in. If anything, they were closing themselves off."

"Well, this unsub has found a way in. One that's…very hard to trace."

"In every case, there was no evidence of a struggle," Morgan shook his head. "No attempt at escapes."

"He finds a personal connection and uses it to buy time," I said.

"My officers need to know this," Baleman said.

"We've found…" Hotch gulped, "that angels of mercy are often people in the medical profession, as well as law enforcement." I couldn't help but think of Garcia and that Jason Clark Battle or whatever his name was…

"Cops," Baleman nodded.

"Which is why we're meeting out here," Emily explained.

"Now, we're only fishing," Rossi said slowly. "We don't wanna point a finger."

"Point it. I don't give a damn," Baleman shrugged.

"If that's what it's about, let us figure out _where_ to point it," Hotch said.

"I asked Garcia to check into emergency responders who were on scene at the fire," Reid said.

"Good, Prentiss?"

"He's smart. He knows all about these peoples' schedules, their routines," she replied.  
"Look, if this unsub _does_ exist, this is a guy who's all about control," Morgan said. "He chooses how they die, when the die. He even positions them exactly how he wants them to die. That makes him hyper vigilant. A guy who's always on the look-out, [unintelligible], unseen."

"The only way to stop him is to find out how he's managed to get into all of his victim's lives," I told Baleman.

Rossi looked at me. "We find that out, we've got our killer."

"Start bringing people in," Hotch said. "Find the connection."

* * *

Garcia found out and told Rossi and Morgan about an untraceable paralytic that the unsub was using on the victims. They were just telling me about this when we were told about _another_ "suicide".

Curtis Fackler was found in his apartment, shot in the head.

"Barrel was placed right there, under the chin. He shoots and the bullet, uh, went up through the 'small and heart' palate of his mouth," the coroner said, I think. "Then it exited out through his—"

"Cranium," Rossi finished for him. He and I were crouched next to the coroner while Morgan stood behind us.

"Mm-hmm."

"Check the back of his head. His hairline," Rossi said. The coroner lifted up the cadaver's head, then put it back down. "There," Rossi pointed. "You see it?"

"A puncture wound. Made by a—"

"Needle."

"Did he leave a note?" Morgan called out to one of the Crime Scene Investigators. The man handed him a piece of paper in a thin plastic bag. I watched as he looked over it. "Alright, Rossi, I'm in," he handed Rossi the note. "We've got ourselves an unsub."

* * *

Reid and Emily figured out that the unsub was meeting his victims in self-help groups and that the suicide notes were written as amends. Next thing I knew, Rossi and I were going to interview some alcoholics and drug addicts, as well as group leaders.

"Can you think of anybody who sticks out?" I asked a woman who was obviously trying to emulate Joan Jett with her appearance.

"He's confident, earnest," Rossi said.

"Mm-mm-mm," the woman shook her head. "Hell, I mean, we're addicts. Everyone sticks out, _no one_ sticks out, you know?"

We nodded and moved on to another place. This time, the front steps of a church.

"He might've brought up suicide," Rossi asked a group leader.

"There has been a lot of suicide-talk lately," the man laughed bitterly.

"Anyone come to mind?" I asked.

He shook his head. "You know, there _was_ a guy who talked about his brother's suicide. It was…pretty intense."

"This guy stood up and told a story about his brother," Rossi said. We were back at the police station now. "His family was…so poor—"

"They shared the same bedroom 'til they were fifteen," Hotch finished for him. I looked up.

"We heard the same story," Morgan said.

"He's moving from group to group," JJ concluded. "Repeating it."

"He said his name was Peter and that his dad was a professor at Brassard," I said, then went on to talk about Peter's story about the father molesting the brother, James. "The worst part about it is that he pretended to be asleep when it happened."

"If it's true, it could be what started our unsub on his mission of mercy," Hotch commented.

"It certainly didn't end well," Rossi said. "At least not for…James, the older brother."

"Okay, so we've got two names," Emily said. "James and Peter."

"And a university—Brassard," Hotch added.

"Well, that'll make it easier for you, Garcia," JJ said into the phone that was on speaker, lying on the table near us.

"If the unsub's father really taught at Brassard, chances are he's local," Rossi said.

"Ah," Reid said massaging his jaw.

"Reid?" Hotch asked.

"Angels of mercy—ah, they repeat the same event over and over again," Reid got up and walked around.

"What are you getting at?" Morgan asked.

"Well, i-if, as you said, the story's true, then he's leaving one key piece of information out. Uh, the event that _started_ it all."

"His brother didn't kill himself," Hotch said.

"Peter did," Emily said.

"The fire caused such grief and suffering, it became a trigger," Reid said.

"And unable to stop himself, he targets someone he believes needs his help," Morgan said.

"At first, he keeps to some kind of timeline, a few weeks, but the last two kills were within days."

"He's devolving," Rossi said.

"_I got it_," Garcia grasped our attention. "_It's from 1984. It's Brassard College University newspaper._"

"Garcia," Emily sounded shocked. "They lived on campus?"

"_Yep. It says here James Redding was the youngest suicide in Pennsylvanian history. And his father, Charles Redding, was professor…_creep."

"Is there any possibility that while we've been gone talking, you've been multitasking?"  
"_What? Track down his current address?_"

"Hahaha, I love you, Penelope Garcia."

"_Hmm, get in line._"

Soon enough, we were driving to Redding's house in the dark of the night. Bulletproof vests on, we filed into the house after some cops. We heard them call out "clear" every few seconds.

"We need to work fast," Rossi said. "There's meetings taking place all over the city."

"At least with your guys and ours, his chances are next to zero, right?" Baleman asked.

"He's got away with it _this_ far," I pointed out.

Just then, we heard Emily's voice. "Guys! You might wanna take a look at this."

We followed the sound and saw her standing in a closet of some sort. On the walls was what looked to be a calendar, covered in "Hello, my name is" tags and people's names.

"He's crossed off the names of Beth Smoler and Curtis Fackler, the last two victims," Emily said.

"It's a grid of all the support groups. Times, dates…got a list of names of all those in the meetings," Baleman said.

"They all have a type," Rossi said. "Alcoholic, narcotic, depression, divorce. Man, this guy kept himself busy."

"Hey, Laurie Ann Morris," Emily said. "We spoke to her and her husband. Her name's not crossed off like the others."

We left the closet-thingy and walked outside. Emily called Laurie Ann.

"She's not answering her cell phone!" Emily said frantically as we walked down the front steps.

"The husband's already left work," Rossi said.

"I'm calling his cell now… Jonathan, hello, this is Agent Emily Prentiss from the FBI. Is your wife Laurie Ann with you?" Just then, she signaled for us to run into the car. "Can you tell us where she is right now?" I sat in the backseat with Baleman. "Got it."

Rossi turned on the siren and we zoomed to the place where the support group was meeting. The team and I got out, holding a picture of Laurie Ann and Peter Redding. Hotch went up to two people at the front door.

"Excuse me sir, we're looking for either one of these people. Have either of you seen them?" Hotch asked. "You sure?" He turned back to us. "Alright, let's split up and, uh, search the building and the surrounding area. This way, guys."

We walked into the building and asked around about Laurie Ann. Only JJ and Reid came up with anything.

"Parking lot?" Reid asked as we all met.

"Other side of the building," Baleman said.

"How many exits does it have?" Hotch asked.

"Three: north, east, and west side."

"Alright, let's split up and cover each one. Morgan, come with us," Hotch jerked his head and he left with Baleman and Morgan. I went with Rossi, of course.

"You know what kinda car she has?" I asked.

"It's a blue Chevy," he answered.

We looked around for a blue Chevy, or anything out of the ordinary. Just then, staring through a chain link fence, I saw the car.

"It's over there," I pointed. "LAURIE ANN!" I yelled. We rounded the fence and started running. "LAURIE ANN!" Just then, the car started zooming through the parking lot. "LAURIE ANN! LAURIE ANN!" She was headed straight for a dumpster.

CRASH!

The horn blared and her headlights shone.

We ran over to the car, joined by the rest of the team. We pulled our guns out and aimed them at the car. Inside were two figures—a blonde woman (Laurie Ann) and a blonde man (Peter Redding). They were both semiconscious, Laurie's head slowly lolling around.

"Put your hands where I can see them!" Morgan shouted. "I'm goin' around." He opened the passenger side door and a loud groan could be heard from Peter. "Show me your hands!"

Emily opened the driver's side door and addressed Laurie Ann. "Okay, don't move, we've got help coming."

"DO IT NOW! You got me?" Morgan was regarding Baleman with the last part.

"Yeah," Baleman said.

"I don't understand what's goin' on…" Peter slurred.

"Here," Morgan handed Baleman his gun and pulled Peter Redding out.

"Ow! _Ow!_"

"What's goin' on is that you just took your last breath as a free man."

"I've done nothing wrong!"

"Shut up."

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

Morgan had the man on his stomach on the pavement, cuffing him. We put our guns down as soon as he was cuffed. Soon, Laurie Ann was being checked out by the ambulance and Emily went to go talk to her before we left to go back to the hotel.

I walked up to Morgan, who was staring at the police car that took Redding away. Before I could say anything, he held up his hand.

"I know. A big ole slice of humble pie is headed my way," he said.

I smirked and patted him on the back, walking away in silence.

* * *

"I wanted to thank you for all you did," Baleman said as we stood outside the Pittsburgh Police Department. "And for believing me, when no one else did."

Out of the corner of my eye, I stared at Morgan and he elbowed me in the ribs.

"Ron," Rossi started. But he didn't get to finish.

"Thank you," Baleman said.

"Paul's journal, I read it," Reid told him. "U-Uh, Ronnie, your brother…Paul wasn't murdered."

Baleman stared at him in disbelief.

"In Peter's apartment, unlike all the other victims, Paul's name was nowhere to be found," Rossi said.

"I…I don't understand. You said the psychological autopsy was inconclusive," Baleman looked at Reid.

"Further analysis of the journal concludes it_ was_ suicide," Hotch said.

Now Morgan was staring at me out of the corner of his eye. He elbowed me too.

"I'm sorry," Rossi looked at the mystified brother.

"…You're wrong," he said. "But like I said, thanks for coming."


	11. Elephant's Memory

** Reid was tardy** to the briefing. We were watching a clip of a burning house in Texas. A bomb had exploded inside of it. Then, the first responders were gunned down.

"Officer Letts shot this just before he was killed," JJ said.

"Sorry I'm late," Reid said as he clomped into the bullpen. He rushed over to a seat next to Emily, threw off his messenger bag, and sat down.

"I hope she was worth it," Rossi said from next to me. He was wearing a simple black long-sleeved shirt and I have to admit, it looked very nice. I was wearing a gray v-neck sweater and a pair of light blue jeans.

"I hope it was a _she_," Morgan turned from the coffee machine.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Reid avoided our eyes, "I was at the movies."

"Oh, really?" Rossi said, obviously not buying it. "Why don't you tell us what it was about?"

"Uh, I had to leave early, so I can't really t…" Reid looked at Rossi and stopped. I smirked and shook my head. Morgan sat next to me.

"I know it's late," Hotch said folding his arms across his chest as he walked over to sit between Reid and Emily. "I know we're tired. But we've got two dead cops."

"Alright, uh, the resident, Rod Norris," JJ held up a picture of the burly man, "was DOA. They're still trying to ID the remains of the second victim, whom they believe is his sixteen year-old daughter," she showed us another picture of a pretty blonde girl, "Jordan. From the condition of the remains, she would have had to've been inside the house…close to the source of the blast." JJ handed the picture to Rossi.

"Clearly, they used the bombing to set the officers up for an ambush," Emily said.

"It's a well-established terrorist tactic," Reid told us. "Uh, first wave takes out civilians. The second wave takes out first responders."

"The locals are thinking terrorism?" asked Morgan. "In West Bune, Texas…?"

"Not exactly a tier one target, but DHS did issue a terror alert for the border states yesterday," JJ said. "Just due to the timing and nature of the attack."

"I've-I've never heard of this place," Morgan said. "I mean, the militia—okay, _that_ I could see."

"Well, it _is _close to the border," I pointed out, hoping Morgan wasn't going to be an asshole about a case again. "Could be traffickers sending a message."

"Whoever it is, they gunned down two cops and blew-up a teenaged girl," Rossi looked back at the screen. "'Til they're stopped, no one in that town is safe."

"We need to be cautious with the locals. They've lost two of their own; they're anxious, they're scared, and…they're gonna want revenge." Hotch said.

"Can you blame 'em?" Rossi asked. He looked at the screen once more and I watched the video of the burning house and then of the other cop's dead body lying on the ground.

* * *

We pulled up to the wreckage of the Norris house.

"Sheriff Hallum," JJ walked up to a man who stood waiting for us.

"Ma'am," he jerked his head up.

"Jennifer Jareau," she held out her hand and he shook it.

"Mm-hmm," he appeared to be looking at us from under his cowboy hat. It cast a shadow over his beady eyes and thin lips.

"This is the team. Agents Hotchner, Rossi, Dr. Reid, McCarthy, Prentiss, and Morgan," she pointed at us all and we shook the sheriff's hand. "We're really sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said. "Where do we start?"

"First victim, Rod Norris?" Hotch looked to Hallum for confirmation.

"Manager of the chemical plant over at Ibbis," he said, I think. "No arrests and ten years since his wife left him. I can't blame her for leaving…but just saying she left Jordan behind…"

"What can you tell us about Jordan?" Rossi asked.

"Sweet girl. Bit slow."

"Slow?" I cocked an eyebrow. "She was mentally challenged?"

"Not quite. Special Ed and all that stuff. Takes some talking-to to notice it. I think her mother leaving took its toll."

Hotch nodded at JJ.

"Sheriff, I-I'd like to gather your people at the office so I can brief them all together," she said.

"Sure," Hallum nodded as well. "But I'm staying here."

"Of course. Thank you," she turned on her heel and walked off. Meanwhile, we put on some latex gloves and started investigating the crime scene. Rossi, Reid, and Emily took the kitchen. I went to the scene of the shooting. The areas around the blood puddles were taped-off.

"Hit pattern says they were fired on full auto," Morgan said. He pointed at the puddles. "Tight grouping for it. Single burst put 'em both down. That takes skill."

I raised both eyebrows. "And some serious training."

"Letts lands here, still alive. Savage falls there dead," Hotch said, consulting with his file.

"But I walk past Letts," Morgan said, role-playing as the unsub. "And I shoot Lou Savage in the face, but I know he's already dead."

"This was personal," Hotch said.

"They knew each other?" Hallum asked as Reid came up beside him.

"Enough to know Rod Norris would enter through the back door while smoking," he said.

"And that Lou Savage was on duty and would respond," I added.

"So, what are we talking about here?" Hallum wondered.

"This wasn't terrorism," Hotch said. "Domestic or otherwise. Terrorists rarely know their victims. At least, not personally."

"Because they knew Rod Norris was a smoker who used his back door?"

"And shot Deputy Savage _in_ the face at point-blank range," Morgan continued.

"They weren't being thorough?"

"No. He walked past Letts, who was alive. Shoots _Savage_ in the face when he _knows_ he's already dead. Responders were coming. That last shot was risky overkill."

"Overkill means rage," Reid straightened up from his crouched position. "Rage means a close, personal relationship."

"Rod Norris and Lou Savage were the specific targets of this attack," Hotch said.

"Sheriff, can you think of anyone with a close, personal connection to Rod Norris and Lou Savage?" Morgan asked.

"I didn't think about it, because of the terror alert," Hallum admitted.

"Think about what?" I asked.

"Owen," he said. "Owen Savage. Lou's son was dating Jordan Norris."

* * *

"My deputies didn't find Owen at home," Hallum told us as we strode across the Savage's front yard. We went up the steps and through the open door.

"How long did you know Lou Savage?" Hotch asked as we stood in the living room. Hallum was stationary, but the rest of us were looking around.

"My whole life," Hallum said.

"And Deputy Savage's wife?"

"Hope?"

"How did she die?"

"Drunk driver in '02. Lou was in Afghanistan. Owen lived with us until he got back."

Reid muttered something to himself that I didn't catch.

"How long was Lou Savage in the marines?" Morgan asked.

"Twelve years. He was discharged so he could raise Owen," Hallum told him.

"Is that why he resented them?" Reid asked.

"Pardon me?"

"Uh, did Lou blame his wife and son for ending his career in the marines?"

"Lou was a good man," Hallum said defensively.

"A good man that doesn't have a single photo of his dead wife or only son anywhere in the entire house."

"I know this is hard," Hotch said before Reid could offend the sheriff any more, "and if we had more time, we would be more sensitive. But we don't."

Hallum put his hands on his hips and sighed, looking down at the floor. "Hope was the drunk driver. I didn't write it up that way, but…it didn't matter. Her drinking was no secret in town."

"Where's Owen's room?" I asked.

"Right over there," Hallum jerked his thumb and I walked in that direction. "There's the gun safe," he was saying as I got out of earshot.

Owen's room was very dark. He nearly had a shrine dedicated to Johnny Cash. Immediately, his cover of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" got stuck in my head.

_What have I become,_

_ My sweetest friend?_

_ Everyone I know,_

_ Goes away in the end._

I tried to turn on his computer, to no avail. Reid and Morgan showed up moments later.

"Gun safe is empty," Morgan informed me.

"That's a surprise," I said facetiously.

"That's James Dean's porche," Morgan said, looking at a picture of a crashed car on the wall.

"Little Bastard," I smirked. He gave me a strange look. "That's what he called the car." He kept looking at me. "I did a project on him…"

"No pictures of James Dean, though," he continued. "That's a bad sign."

"Especially when your mother died in a car accident," Reid said, staring at the photo. "Still haven't found the father of the year award," he turned away and examined the bed. Morgan gave him a strange look as well.

"You already check his computer?" Morgan asked.

"It's password protected," I told him.

"Mm…smart move if your dad's a cop," Morgan said.

"Ah, assuming he cares enough to snoop," Reid said, looking at the shelf.

I had a feeling that he had some kind of emotional connection to this Owen kid. Reid didn't exactly have the best childhood either. His mom was schizophrenic and his dad abandoned them.

"Hey, Reid," Morgan said. "Check yourself. That sheriff out there wanted to take your head off. I think Hotch might've let him."

Reid just shrugged it off. I tried to catch his eye, then refocused on the bureau I was opening.

"All his clothes are black," I reported.

"Same here," Reid was looking in the closet.

"Just like his friend, Johnny Cash," Morgan stared at the poster attached to Owen's curtain. "So, Owen identifies with being the misunderstood loner. You know, I wish all our unsubs would just tack their profiles on their walls like this for us."

"That doesn't mean anything," Reid said. "What? You grew up in Chicago, a high school jock. You'd have pictures of…Scottie Pippen and Michael Jordan all over your walls—trophies everywhere?"

"Yeah. But you forgot Walter Payton," Morgan corrected. "Not to mention the sexy ladies of the _Sports Illustrated_ _Swimsuit Issue_," he outlined a curvy body with his hands.

"Guess who isn't surprised…" I rolled my eyes. Morgan turned and winked at me.

"Smart money says you didn't paint your mirrors black," Reid said. We both looked at him as he scraped what once was the mirror on the back of the closet door.

"I guess Owen didn't like what he saw," I said, knowing the feeling.

All of the sudden, we heard the sounds of a woman struggling outside the house, wanting to "get by".

"McCarthy, Reid," Morgan cocked his head to the door and we followed him. Out on the front lawn was an angry woman arguing with Hallum. The three of us stood on the porch.

"It's Officer Letts' wife," Hotch walked up the steps

"Send _them_ home," she stared at us—me in particular. "You don't need 'em… You know what to do. You find that little son of a bitch. You find him and do what's right!" And with that, she stormed off the property.

"Why do I get the feeling she's not gonna be the only one with that sentiment?" Morgan asked.

"Stay here and work the room. Reid and I are gonna go to the high school and talk to Owen's teachers and friends," Hotch said. "We need to get a profile—figure out where he's going."

Morgan and I nodded, going back into the house.

* * *

Owen had dropped off his car by the interstate, killed another kid, and stole his car. And apparently, the "body" found in the field wasn't Jordan… It was a hunk of meat.

"C'mon Mom…" Morgan said, trying to figure out what the password was. The background of Owen's computer was a picture of his mother at a birthday party.

"Try 'johnnycash'," I said, leaning over his shoulder. Morgan typed, but it didn't work.

"Hope Savage," he stared at the picture of her and started to rock back and forth in the chair, "I know you're trying to tell me something."

Then it hit me…and I think it hit him too, because he started to type in 'hope'…and it worked!

"Okay," Morgan leaned back in the chair with relief. He fiddled around with Owen's e-mails and discovered something. We exchanged glances and he then called Hotch.

"_You got something?_" Hotch asked.

"An mpeg on Owen's computer," Morgan said. "You really need to see this."

Owen had been hazed by the wrestling team as a freshman. They filmed him masturbating in the shower room (which they forced him to do) and put it online to humiliate him. So, to exact his revenge, Owen took the three ringleaders to a river, made them strip to their boxers and put their hands on their heads. All the while, Johnny Cash's song "The Man Comes Around" was playing in the background. Then gunfire erupted and the video ended.

Apparently, while giving the profile, Reid lashed out at the cops, so Hotch sent him back to Owen's house to help him.

"Garcia restored those e-mails," Morgan said as Reid played around with the computer.

"Hang on, I'm sorting through them right now," Reid said.

Morgan sat down with me on the bed. I wasn't exactly tech savvy, so I didn't know why I was still there. It was all I could do to stay awake because not only was I exhausted, I was also bored out of my mind. I sighed and flopped down on Morgan's lap, to which he chuckled and started stroking my dark hair.

"Reid," Morgan said, making the young doctor turn around in his seat, "you know, you're not the only one who identifies with him." Reid swiveled in his seat and looked at Morgan full-on. "You said I was a high school jock. I was…but not at first." I sat up to listen to his story. "My freshman year, I was five-foot-three," he held his hand out, exaggerating how short he was. I laughed with him. "I weighed a buck twenty soaking wet, so trust me when I tell you I got my ass kicked. Every day. So, the following summer, I hit the weights. And I got lucky—I grew six inches. But it was never about vanity, Reid… It was about survival."

Reid avoided his eyes and cleared his throat. "I was in the library…and, uh, Harper Hillman comes up to me, and she tells me that, uh, Alexa Lisbon wants to meet me behind the field house… Alexa Lisbon's, like…easily the prettiest girl in school," he laughed.

"What happened?" I cocked my head to the side. "Alexa wasn't there?"

"No, she was there. And so was the entire football team."

I gaped, afraid of where this was going.

"They…uh, stripped me naked and tied me to a goalpost. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."

"Nobody tried to stop them?" Morgan asked.

"Mm-mm," Reid shook his head. "I begged-I begged them to, but they just…just watched… And, finally, they got bored and they left… It was, like, midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't…" Reid sniffed. "Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late." He laughed bitterly again.

"You never told her what happened?"

"I never told anybody. I thought…it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday," Reid's voice quavered. I stood up and went over to him, bending to give him a hug. He barely hugged me back and I think he was trying to withhold his tears.

"I just want you to know," I whispered in his ear, "that I would've made them stop."

Morgan sighed when I let go of Reid and went back to sit on the bed. "Ah, Reid, you don't need an eidetic memory for that," Morgan was staring at the ground. He shook his head. "You know, we forget half of what they teach us at school, but…when it comes to the torment and the people that inflicted it…we've all got an elephant's memory."

Reid shook his head and leaned forward. "Owen just wants to forget. I know what that's like." His eyes were shiny.

Morgan sighed through his nose again. "He's been making a big deal out of saying goodbye to Jordan in all of his e-mails." Reid looked back at the computer. "None of it's shorthand. That's odd."

"He never got a chance to say goodbye to his mother," I said. "Abandonment's his biggest fear, that's why he choseJordan. He thinks she'll never leave."

* * *

"Owen's mother's death left him with severe issues of abandonment," Reid said as we met up with Hotch and Emily back at the station the next morning. "If we can get Jordan away from him, we'll_ save_ her and take away his reason to live."

"He'll take his own life," Hotch pointed out.

"It's the only way we can save Jordan," Morgan said.

"How can we get her to leave him?"

"He's kept Jordan in the dark. She doesn't know about the murders," Reid said.

"And you wanna tell her?"

"If we can," Morgan said.

"We can get her to turn herself in," I concluded.

"But even if we _could_ talk to her, the only person she trusts is Owen," Hotch said.

Emily shook her head. "There's one other person. She _might_ be able to get a message to Jordan."

Jordan was raped by a senior—the victim by the truck—when she was a freshman, but the one good thing was that she made a friend out of a girl named Eileen. Owen had given Jordan a PDA that was set to only ring when he or Eileen sent her an e-mail.

Reid, Hotch, Emily and JJ went to Eileen's house so they could get some answers. They did convince Jordan that her boyfriend was a murderer and told her to get away, but Owen found the PDA and claimed they turned her against him. They were all afraid that they just signed Jordan's death sentence. But then Jordan showed up at the department and told Emily and JJ that they were at Stratman's ranch.

We suited up in our vests and drove out there, guns at the ready. When I got out of the SUVs, I could see the start to a shallow grave with the body of an old man next to it.

"Reid, Reid. Little help," Morgan said, going towards the body.

The cops entered the house with their rifles out. Rossi looked at me, signaling to follow them with him. But no one was inside there. We walked out to Hotch, who was standing in the middle of the driveway.

"Owen's not here," Rossi said, shaking his head.

"Hey, Hotch," Morgan said. "We got a body back there."

"And a half-dug grave," Reid added. Both of which I already knew.

"Found a note," Hallum said, coming up to us. He gave it to Hotch.

"'I'm going to return my mom's necklace.' He may be going home to get it. We didn't find it, but it could be there. Sheriff, you go there," Hotch handed him the note back.

"You?"

"Where's his mother buried?"

Once Hallum gave him the name of the cemetery and left, Reid started un-Velcro-ing his vest.

"Reid, what are you doing?" Hotch asked him.

"He's gonna force us to kill him," Reid said, taking it off.

But I didn't get to hear the rest of the conversation because I went into the SUV with Morgan and Rossi. Hotch joined us with Reid's vest and we drove to the cemetery. We pulled out our guns and looked around. We found the grave of Hope Savage, but not her son.

"Something's wrong," Hotch said. He turned and looked at us.

"He had a headstart," Rossi said. "If he was coming here, he'd be here already."

"He said he wanted to say goodbye," Morgan said. "Give _her_ back the necklace. He wasn't talking about his mother."

"Jordan," I whispered just as Hotch got a phone call.

"Yeah?" Hotch said. "…Okay, we're on our way." He started to walk away. "Reid knew."

We hurried back to the SUV and drove to the station. In the middle of the road stood an unarmed and unprotected Reid and a young man in black, holding an assault rifle.

Owen.

We got out of the car and held out our guns as Reid tried to negotiate with him.

"I know the only reason you joined the team was for your father. I know that he blamed you for what happened," Reid said.

"STAY BACK!" Owen shouted. "RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!"

"I also know…the only reason you killed Rod Norris and Kyle Borden was to protect Jordan. I know the harder you tried, the worse it got, and it felt like _everybody_ just stood there, watching you suffer. Not a single person even tried to help."

Owen seemed to be affected by Reid's words. But I couldn't hear anything anymore.

Reid looked back at where we were, by the SUV's open passenger-side door. He shuffled himself to one side.

"What's he doing?" Rossi asked.

"He's blocking our shot," Hotch explained.

Reid continued to negotiate. But much quieter now. He kept moving, continuing to block our shot. And then, Owen reached into his coat pocket. He stepped forward and put his gun down on the ground. We started to run towards the kid.

"Don't move!" Morgan yelled. "Don't move."

Owen sort of hunched forward, his hands up. Morgan held them behind his back and cuffed him.

A siren was heard on the street and Rossi and I held our hands up, making Sheriff Hallum swerve as he parked.

"It's all over," Rossi said as the sheriff got out. "It's okay."

Morgan and Reid walked past us, frog-marching Owen into the station. We followed them and watched as Owen and a tearful Jordan shared one final glance. Reid handed Jordan the necklace and then they took Owen away.

* * *

I sat on the jet, hugging my knees and staring out the dark window. Everyone else was sleeping. Emily _had_ been reading from across the table, but even she turned off her book light and closed her eyes. I had just eavesdropped on Hotch ripping Reid a new one about jeopardizing his and everyone else's lives earlier.

I was tired, but I just couldn't sleep.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

I jumped, nearly taking out Morgan's fancy-shmancy headphones with my elbow. "Excuse me?" I looked at Rossi across from me.

"I just noticed you couldn't sleep," he said.

"It's no big deal," I shrugged. I didn't want to tell him that I was thinking about Reid's horrible story, so I changed the subject. "So, uh, we didn't get to spend a lot of time together on this case."

"I noticed," he nodded.

"I missed you," I gave him a toothy smile, playing it off as a joke.

"I'm sure you did," he laughed. "Listen, if you ever want to talk, I'm here for you."

I smiled. That was really touching. "Thank you."

"And a lot cheaper than therapy," he smiled back and then closed his eyes once more.


	12. In Heat

** "Charles Luvet was** found floating in a Miami marina last night," JJ said, clicking away from the picture of the corpse laying on a blue tarp. "Local ME thinks that he was only in the water about an hour," she walked over and sat on the other side of Rossi.

"Any attempt to weigh the body down?" Hotch asked.

"Doesn't appear to be," she replied.

"Well, the dumping _could_ be convenient as opposed to a means of hiding the crime," Morgan said.

"Well, he's the _third_ victim found in Miami over the last two months. Though the locations of the bodies are different, many of the elements are the same. All males, twenty-five to thirty-five, all traveling, all asphyxiated with no signs of sexual assault," JJ pointed out.

"The tourists _could_ mean just simple robbery."

"Well, there _are_ some personal items missing."

"He's targeting travelers for a reason," Rossi piped up.

"I'm so sorry!" Garcia walked in with her bags and got all of our attention.

"Hey. Half-day today?" Emily asked.

"I-I, the alarm," Garcia said, walking around Reid, Morgan, and Emily to steal the last seat. "Sir, I…overslept. I'm_ so_ sorry!"

"Everyone's allowed to be late," Hotch said. "Once."

"Won't happen again," Garcia promised. I noticed that the top of her hair was dyed several other dark colors.

"You guys notice the red flag on the autopsy reports?" Rossi asked, roping us back into the case. I looked through my case file and found it.

"Yeah, none of the hyoid bones were fractured," I said, looking at him.

"No visual signs of trauma, no ligature marks," Hotch added. "Yet the unsub still managed to asphyxiate grown men."

"Could be a chokehold," I shrugged.

"Yeah, it wouldn't leave any signs of trauma," Morgan backed me up.

"It would also be a way of controlling a male," Reid said. "Uh, a powerful grip from behind gives the unsub all the leverage. None of these victims look out of shape, or easy to control." He pointed to the screen where the three victims were shown. "In fact, they all look…remarkably fit."

"Well, as I said," JJ spoke up again, using the clicker to show other pictures, "the recovery locations _are_ very different. Charles Luvet was found in the water. Daniel Brown was partially buried in a shallow sand dune. Paul Hayes was stuffed into a Dumpster."

"Not much of an effort to hide _any_ of them," Emily commented.

"They were all found in high traffic areas," Rossi said.

"Miami PD is asking for help considering," JJ showed the pictures of four other men, "there are currently four other men missing that match this victimology.

"I can dig up what I can on the victims from their hometowns," Garcia said.

"Miami's a Mecca for potential targets, and anyone traveling is more vulnerable than they normally would be," Hotch said.

"Well, case in point. Charles Luvet, the latest victim…he was a vacationing cop," JJ told us.

* * *

"Hey, if we finish the case quickly, can we hang out on the beach?" Morgan asked Hotch. I could tell he was half-joking.

"No," Hotch said bluntly.

"Thanks," I smirked at the unit chief who was reading over the case file in the swiveling seat. "God forbid I stand outside two seconds without getting a sunburn."

"You burn easily?" Rossi asked.

"_Ohhhh yeah_," I nodded. "The only tans I get are from burns—if I'm lucky."

"You _are_ pretty white," Morgan looked at me.

"Thanks for the reminder," I rolled my eyes. "I'm too Irish for my own good…"

"You know, actually tanning isn't good for you. I-It can lead to skin cancer and—"

"I know, Reid," I held up a hand to stop him. "Thank you."

Soon enough, we reached Miami. We rolled up to the police station. And Reid spluttered as he got out of the SUV.

"Is it always this _hot?_" he asked.

I turned and gave him a look. "Are you for real right now?"

"Every day, all day," Morgan said, staring as two women in pencil skirts and heels walked by. I noticed that both he and Rossi were checking them out. My blood boiled a little. But hey, they're men.

"_That's_ South Beach," Rossi said.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Reid said quietly.

"They know," Hotch said, making me snort quietly.

"FBI," a Latina woman came up to us. She was pretty and I knew Morgan was going to be paying her a _lot_ of attention.

"Yes," Morgan said after a moment's worth of him checking her out from behind his sunglasses.

"Detective Lopez, Miami PD," she said in her accented voice.

Morgan almost seemed disappointed, knowing that she carried a gun. "Oh," he held out his hand. "Morgan…Derek," he added when she grabbed his hand.

"Tina," she said. "So, thank you for coming down so quickly."

"Agent Jareau, JJ, we spoke on the phone," our liaison shook her hand as well.

"Yes," Lopez said in a breathy voice.

"These are Agents Hotchner, Prentiss, Rossi, McCarthy…_Derek_, and Dr. Reid," JJ introduced.

"Well, I hope there's no test 'cause I'm lousy with names," Lopez admitted. I half-expected Morgan to start fake-laughing. Or is that just something girls do…?

"Agent will be fine," Rossi nodded.

"Hey," Emily pointed behind Lopez, "isn't that…?"

"Detective LaMontagne. He just arrived from New Orleans to ID the cop they removed from the bay last night," Lopez said as the hunky Will walked over to us from a cop car. I'm _pretty_ sure that he and JJ had a thing, as they got close on our last case in New Orleans.

_And_ considering that she immediately started playing with her hair as he came closer…well, let's just say I think my hunch was confirmed.

"Uh, Detective," JJ's voice got a little higher and they shook hands. "It's…good to see you." I noticed Emily was staring at JJ. I think she knew as well as I did and was just waiting for JJ to admit it. I'm pretty sure Rossi was lost on this whole thing since we met Will back when Gideon was with us.

"How are you?" he drawled. He turned to face the rest of the team. "Yeah, uh, Charlie Luvet and I worked together for seven years. We haven't formally ID'd him yet, but…we believe it's him."

"Sorry for your loss, man," Morgan said. Will nodded and looked down.

"So, you all know each other?" Lopez asked.

"Uh, professionally," JJ said after Will looked at her.

_Professionally, my ass!_

"…Yeah, the, uh, BAU helped me on a case about a year ago," Will said awkwardly. "But just for the sake of clarity, I'm not here to investigate. Charlie was, uh…s'posed to be married this August." Emily gaped. "So, if the guy that floated up last night was him…I guess I have the honor of notifying his fiancée. So, if she's gonna need some answers…closure, then I'm just here to get that for her."

"Do you know why he was here?" Rossi asked.

"He was meetin' up with some college buddies to compete in a regatta. He was a big boat guy," Will explained.

"So, he wasn't traveling alone," Hotch said.

"Well, he came alone. He was meetin' them here."

"We should track these friends down; see if they saw anything," Rossi said, then looked over at Lopez. "And the, uh, two other victims—any potential witnesses?"

"No. Paul Hayes was here alone on business. Daniel Brown came down to windsurf by himself," Lopez shrugged.

"They were all, essentially, alone," Reid concluded.

"The unsub watched them long enough to know that," I nodded.

"Yeah, he's probably already _scoping out_ his next victim," Lopez said. "And I don't have a damn thing to warn people with. So, come on inside. I've got everything set up."

We walked inside and up the staircase. Lopez led Emily, Rossi, and me up to a windowless room with a table. On top of it were evidence baggies filled with stuff.

"_This_ is everything we recovered from Paul Hayes' hotel room. It's all been processed, so, don't worry about touching anything," she told us.

"Thank you," Emily said to her.

"I'm gonna take the skinny kid and Derek to the dumpsites," she said. "So, I got my cell, radio. If anyone doesn't give you anything, just call me."

"Great," I nodded.

Lopez turned on her heel and flounced off down the hallway. I turned and saw Rossi smirking.

"She _did_ say she wasn't good at names," he pointed out.

"Remembered _Derek_," Emily said, making me laugh through my nose.

"Wonder how she'll describe _us_," Rossi commented, turning to the evidence. He looked at a suit on a hanger.

"Oh, I'm sure I don't want to know," I said as Rossi pulled something out from the inside of his jacket.

"It's always sad seeing someone's life reduced to the things they had with them when they died," Emily sighed. "It's just so clear, they didn't know how short their time would be…"

Rossi paused. "Odd."

"Odd?" I furrowed my brow, looking up from the hairbrush in my hands.

"His wife reported that he'd…been down here almost a week on business. Yet…he never wore any of the suits he packed." He put the thing back—his badge, maybe?

"Hmm…" Emily checked Hayes' PDA. "And there are appointments going back six months in his PDA, but…nothing is listed for the week he was here."

I remembered the picture of his crime scene. "Hayes was wearing running clothes when he was killed." I picked up a bag with a certain piece of jewelry. "Who takes off their wedding ring to jog?"

* * *

Apparently, Charlie Luvet was a closeted homosexual.

Yeah, you heard me. There was no regatta and the last address he had on his rental car's GPS was for a Miami gay bar.

No, I'm not homophobic. Quite the opposite, actually. We just had to rethink our victimology.

I stood with Emily at the police station. I felt so dehydrated, sweaty, and gross. Fortunately, JJ came up to us with thick water bottles.

"For you, and you," she handed us each one.

"Oh, thank you so much," I said to the pretty blonde.

"You read my mind," Emily added. We all unscrewed the caps.

"I don't understand how it can be this dry when it's this humid," JJ said, leaning on the desk we were standing by.

"Mm," Emily agreed, taking a drink. "You sweat all your fluids out outside and then come into bone-dry air-conditioning."

"Well, then if I just hook this up to an IV, then…" JJ trailed off, shrugging. Emily and I laughed, our mouths full of water.

"At least we have something fun to look at," Emily said. "Keep us on our toes."

JJ looked kinda worried. "What do you mean?"

Emily looked over her shoulder. "LaMontagne."

JJ looked over at Will, who was bent over a table. She chuckled. "You think so, eh?"

"Don't you?" Emily asked.

"I know I do," I smirked, joining in on the fun. "Mm, I just _love_ New Orleans accents…"

JJ gave us a wide-eyed look, then turned her head back around. "Yeah, yeah, I guess he's…" Will looked up, so she turned back to us. "He's a thing," she chuckled awkwardly and took another sip of water.

"Uh—_definitely_ a thing," Emily said.

"Alright, everybody, listen up," Lopez said, coming into the station. "The FBI has a profile of our guy." We all gathered in the middle of the room and I noticed that Hotch was there as well.

"Okay, we wanna stress what we're about to present is just a preliminary profile," JJ said, taking charge. "There may be a time restraint here, so we just wanna give you what we have now. Our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia will start off by talking about the four remaining victims still remaining missing."

"_Two of them disappeared on the same day a few months ago_," Garcia told us from the big TV screen on the wall. "_And then the third and the fourth went missing within the last four weeks_."

"We think the unsub is targeting these guys on their travels," JJ added.

"_Yeah, and then when the befriending happens, woosh, they vanish. However, it looks like there's a connection between our current victims and the men that are still missing. See, _two_ of those four missing men were totally out, openly gay when they disappeared. Uh, I saw one of them on —that's a social networking site—and a photo…of his boyfriend,_" Garcia showed us a picture of the guy sitting on a couch with another guy putting his arm around him.

"Assuming the four missing men are meeting the same unsub, it means he's killing almost weekly," Hotch said. "Which also means he may have already chosen his next victim."

"What we need is more information on the movements of our victims_ before_ they met the unsub. We have three confirmed victims and four possible—some of our other colleagues are out in the community now, trying to see if anyone remembers anything about these men," Emily said.

"It's also not just the fact that our victims were traveling _alone_ that left them vulnerable to the unsub," I said. "We believe they may have been looking specifically to meet other men."

"Based on the ages of the victims, we're looking for an offender in his mid-to-late twenties. He's familiar with the area…and he may be offering assistance to those who are not," Hotch supplied.

"He studies his victims' habits, learns how to gain their trust. This unsub is _charming_, charismatic, intelligent. We _assume_ he frequents gay establishments, but he may also work at one," Emily said.

"And given the technique with which he kills, he may have had prior defense tactic training," I added. "He may be a member of the military or have recently been discharged."

"He steals their possessions," Emily said, "but he doesn't pawn a thing."

"And the fact that he's targeting gay men may mean that this is a hate crime…and/or the unsub may be struggling with his own sexuality," Hotch finished.

* * *

Another body had been found out in an alley by a gay bar. Reid, Emily, Hotch, JJ, Morgan, Rossi, and I met up with Lopez at the crime scene the next morning.

"What have we got?" Hotch asked.

"Male, same age range, and we found Luvet's police badge about half a block away from here," Lopez handed it to Hotch.

"So the unsub either ditched it or dropped it when he was getting away," Morgan concluded. "Any sign of Luvet's gun?"

"No, he may be holding onto _that_," Lopez told him.

"Why would he kill out in the open like this?" Reid asked.

"He's losing control emotionally. He could be devolving," Hotch guessed.

"Leaving a body out in plain sight, it's-it's off-pattern," Emily said.

"He was interrupted," Lopez said.

"Who interrupted him?" Rossi asked.

Lopez turned to a pair of cops talking to a young man in a yellow-striped v-neck with a rosary around his neck, and a cigarette behind his ear, "Bring him over." The young man walked up to us. "Bus boy…at the bar." She addressed him in Spanish, "these are the FBI people that I told you about. So just tell them…everything you saw."

The guy took a rattling breath. "Alright, well, I came out here on my break to have a smoke." He pointed to the ambulance, where the cadaver lay. "That guy was on the ground. And his friend said—"

"His _friend_?" Rossi interrupted.

"Yeah, his friend said that they had just been mugged," the guy told us.

"You spoke to this guy?" I raised my eyebrows.

"No, ma'am, I tried," he said to me. "But he did say that he was a cop. So, he took off and he chased after those guys."

"Could you give a description of this cop to a sketch artist?" Morgan asked, holding up the badge.

"No," the young man said. "I can't. I mean, he was a white guy. But it was pretty dark out here and he basically kept running away from me the whole time."

"Alright, I'm gonna have to get all your information," JJ told him, stepping forward.

"Yeah, sure," he said as they walked away.

"So, this guy is impersonating Luvet?" Lopez asked.

"Could just be a ruse he used to get away," Morgan said to her.

"But if he _is_ impersonating his victims, why?" Emily asked.

"Transference," Reid said.

"Whatever he sees in his victims, he wants for himself," Hotch said. "He hates who he is. He's targeting tourists because he sees them as living a kind of lie too."

"Could be suffering from Cluster B," I said.

"Cluster B?" Lopez seemed puzzled.

"Uh, a cluster of personality disorders. It's also called the…'Erratic, Dramatic Emotional Cluster'," Reid explained. "An enduring pattern of inner experience and behavior that differentiates itself markedly from the expectations of the individual's culture. It manifests itself—"

"This guy's a sick dude," Morgan interjected. Reid just nodded.

"But something triggers his constant need to escape. It could be drugs, sex, uh, something that makes him feel vulnerable," Emily added.

"And he can't allow himself a vulnerability," Hotch added.

"Escape into the fantasy protects him from ever having to look at himself," Rossi said.

"You know, if the unsub lives in their skin, odds are, he's living in their hotel rooms," Morgan said.

Hotch started to walk around us to the ambulance. "Any ID on the body?"

"No wallet, nothing," the ME said. "It might have dropped. They're searching now."

"You're not gonna find anything. We need to roll the prints and run 'em," he said to her, turning to us. "We need to figure out who he is and where he was staying."

"_Prints belong to Deacon Rogers, Odessa, Texas. He's got a couple of minor arrests: one for marijuana possession, one for lewd behavior—which I'm guessing is code for 'gay' in Texas. His credit card shows him staying at a South Beach hotel,_" Garcia told us.

Morgan, Reid, Emily, and Lopez went out to go find it. But all they came up with was a trashed hotel room and a running faucet. Morgan called to see if Deacon had a car. Lopez revealed that Stephen Fitzgerald and Robert Feenie were the two who went missing on the same day, so we decided to question their families.

I went with Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi to the Fitzgerald household. We saw a very freckly young woman tending to the garden. She got up. Morgan and Hotch stayed with her, but Rossi and I went inside to talk to the father

"There's a case we're working on which may be connected to your son's disappearance," I told him.

"'Sat right?" he drawled. He was a large man with gray hair who didn't seem like he'd be too understanding about having a gay son.

"Unfortunately, it's a murder case, sir," Rossi said. "Someone is attacking men who are traveling alone."

I sighed, ready to break the big part to the father. "This man's attacking homosexuals. Can you confirm that your son, Stephen, is gay?"

"Well, I-I know he was confused about his…sexual orientation," Fitzgerald admitted.

"How do you mean confused?" I asked.

"There were a number of issues he needed to sort out."

_Issues?!_

"Was there a friend in Miami Stephen was going to see?" Rossi asked, distracting me from my urge to pounce on the guy.

Fitzgerald shook his head. "Nah, he didn't have many friends. Pretty much kept to himself."

"So, once he got on the bus, you never heard from him?" I asked, trying to keep my cool.

"No."

"You seem…_resigned_ at this fact," Rossi observed.

"Wherever Stephen is, I trust it's a better place for him."

"Well, that's a remarkable kind of strength," Rossi's comment made me look at him to see where he was going with this.

"It's because of my personal relationship with the Lord. He gives me my strength and guidance."

"And you apply that philosophy to your job as well," I said, playing along.

"Well, a prison guard depends on his…instincts…his skills, and his strengths," Fitzgerald looked at me. "Otherwise, we'd get ourselves killed. My faith…is my personal code."

"Defense tactics classes are required for all employees at the prison, right?" Rossi asked.

Fitzgerald seemed confused, but he nodded anyway.

"Did Stephen follow in your footsteps?" I asked. "Did he look to God for strength and guidance?"

"Uh, I-I… The troubles with Stephen have-have nothing to do with my-my faith," Fitzgerald seemed a little uncomfortable, like he knew we were onto him or something. "We belong to a very tolerant church, sometimes _too_ tolerant, when they teach that God loves everyone, despite their failings."

"And you saw Stephen's homosexuality as a failing," I said, still trying not to rip this guy a new one.

"Well, I'm a prison guard," he said. "You know how many times I've walked in on men together? I've had to physically pull them apart—it was _filthy_." He looked from me to Rossi, waiting for us to agree with him. "It's filthy. I think he just wanted to do it to piss me off."

"You think your son's sexuality was a way to anger you?" Rossi asked incredulously.

"I was trying to save him," he shook his head.

"From what?" I asked.

Fitzgerald looked at me, "From himself."

"And how were you trying to help him?"

"I've been a guard for twenty years. I know a little something about disciplining somebody."

"So what, you thought you could _beat_ homosexuality out of someone?" Rossi asked, getting angry as well.

"I don't like your tone," Fitzgerald turned on him.

"Threatening this boy with tactics you use on hardened criminals? Threatening him with his own _life_."

"I was teaching him how to be a man," Fitzgerald said.

"No, you were teaching him how to kill one," I glared at him.

"You convinced him he was worthless," Rossi continued. "Contemptible for being who he was. And he believed you. So he found a way to become someone else. _Anyone_ else."

"Stephen isn't missing, _sir_. He's the offender we're looking for."

* * *

Yet another victim was found. This time, a German backpacker found in a convertible on the side of the road.

"Texas plates," Rossi said as we walked up to the car.

"Deacon Rogers never rented a car," Lopez said. "He drove here from Texas…in _this_."

Morgan, Reid, Emily, and I all looked into the car. Lopez said something else, but I wasn't paying attention.

"Agent Hotchner's taking statements from the family of Stephen Fitzgerald. He might be our unsub," Reid told her.

"Seriously?" she asked, looking at him.

I nodded. "It's an unusual household."

"We've had his picture this whole time?"

"Apparently," Reid said.

"We didn't know soon enough to prevent this," Rossi pointed out. "One set of tire tracks in, nothing out."

"Yeah, I noticed," Lopez said. "County spotted the vehicle twenty minutes ago, just as is."

"Asphyxiated?" Emily asked.

"Ha, why mess with a good thing?" Lopez said poisonously. "It's clearly working for him."

"This stretch of road takes you out of the city," Emily said. "If we lose Stephen now, it could take us _months_ to catch up with him again."

"May I?" Morgan asked, stepping toward the car.

"Knock yourself out," Lopez sighed. Morgan reached in and picked up something.

"What is it?" Rossi asked.

"Some kind of scraps of paper…looks like a fast food wrapper…it's a receipt for a youth hostel," Morgan said, unfolding the paper. "It's dated last night. The name on it is, uh…Michael Aldrich."

"From the looks of his sunburn, it's a good guess this young man was hitchhiking," Rossi pointed at the body in the car.

"Assuming Steven's taken over Michael's identity, he might have hitched a ride out of here," I looked at Rossi.

"He didn't drive?"

"Not if Michael didn't," I shook my head. "He's becoming his victims by _choice. _It's his illness. He'd have to travel the exact same way."

Rossi nodded. "Hostels…"

"There's a few hostels in North Miami Beach," Lopez said. "Four miles _that_ way, and in Seneca, five miles west."

"Okay, we'll have to split up," Rossi said. He pointed at Reid, Emily, and me, "We'll take Seneca," and then he pointed to Morgan and Lopez, "you'll take North Miami Beach."

* * *

Our trip to Seneca proved inconclusive and we found ourselves going to North Miami Beach to meet up with Morgan and Lopez. And when we got there, the hostel was surrounded by cops and teenagers. Morgan and Lopez had been talking and then she walked way. We got out of our SUVs, rejoined with Hotch, and walked over to Morgan. I guess he had gotten Stephen and arrested him.

"Morgan…you couldn't wait?" Hotch asked.

He shook his head, "This one's on me, Hotch. I didn't think we had enough time."

I highly doubted that story, but Hotch didn't really seem to care. He turned away and we all got back into the vehicles.

When we got back to the station, Emily and I eavesdropped on JJ and Will's conversation about Charles Luvet hiding in the closet. And when Will said goodbye and walked away, Emily and I went in for another double-team.

"You should go for him," Emily said.

"What?" JJ asked.

"You'd make a cute couple," I winked. JJ seemed stiff and uncomfortable.

"You know what?" she said, turning around and running after her man.

We watched as the two talked.

"C'mon…c'mon…kiss!" I crossed my fingers.

As if on cue, Will grabbed JJ's head and kissed her. I almost cheered. Then Morgan and Reid walked over to us.

"Well, _finally_," Morgan said.

"Mm-hmm," Emily nodded. "Thought she was never gonna admit it." Emily started to walk away.

"Yeah, what's it been? Like, a year?" Reid said, making Morgan snicker.

"Yeah, something like that," Morgan followed her and Emily. I was the caboose.

My hunch was _definitely _confirmed.


	13. The Crossing

** "He's ****_mature_**** and **_wise_. And I absolutely love his voice."

"Yeah—and he's about twenty-five, thirty years older than you."

"So? First of all, age only matters if one partner is seventeen and younger. Second of all, I _like_ older men."

"Hold up," Morgan said, holding his hand up to me. We were standing at the coffee maker. "So, you're telling me that you—a twenty-nine year-old woman—have a bigger crush on _Alan Rickman_ than Brad Pitt."

"Mm-hmm. Brad Pitt's got weird eyes," I smirked, picked up my hot chocolate, and started to walk to my desk.

"Well, so does Rossi, but you have a thing for _him_."

I stopped in my tracks. My eyes widened and I slowly turned around. "What?"

"I've seen the way you look at him. Undressing him with your eyes," Morgan continued.

"I do n—"

"You did it with Gideon too. You really _do_ like the older men."

"I _never_ thought of Gideon that way," I held up a finger. "And I just greatly respect them and admire their clothing."

"Oh, right," Morgan stepped closer. "I'm sure you'd admire their clothes on your bedroom floor."

"This is _so_ inappropriate," I whispered, looking around to make sure no one was in earshot—especially Erin Strauss! "And I _didn't_ like Gideon!"

"But you _do_ like Rossi," Morgan cocked his head.

"I hate you so much," I chewed the inside of my cheek. "Just…please don't say anything. Rossi and I have a great relationship—ah, _friendship_—and I don't want to ruin anything. Plus…you know…fraternization rules…"

"You think _Rossi_ cares about those rules? He's the reason _for_ them," Morgan pointed out.

I blushed, thinking of Rossi wining-and-dining women around the office. "True. I just don't want him to find out."

"Hey, you never know," he raised his naturally wavy brows. "Rossi could have a thing for you too."

"You're kidding," I gave him an incredulous look.

"Not at all," he spoke with rare sincerity. "Hunter, you're hot." I laughed. "I'm serious. If we had met under different circumstances, I'd pursue you."

"Thanks…I think."

"Hey…look at me," Morgan curled a finger and lifted my chin with it. "Don't sell yourself short. You're beautiful."

"Thank you," I smiled at him and wrapped my arms around his muscular torso, careful because I still had my mug of hot chocolate in my hand, and he had a coffee. His words meant more to me than he would even know. I tucked my head under his neck and listened to his heartbeat.

"You're welcome, sweetness," he stroked my hair, just like he did when we were in Texas and I was lying across his lap. "C'mon, we've got a case."

We walked up to the bullpen and sat down with Reid. Shortly after we got comfortable and started checking out the files, Emily and JJ came in.

"Where's mom and dad?" Morgan asked.

"Hotch and Rossi are still at the seminar in Boston. We shouldn't wait on this," JJ said urgently, sitting down at the table.

"JJ pulled me in early," Emily said. "I agree."

"This is Keri Derzmond," JJ said, showing us a picture of the young woman's license. She was a pretty redhead. "Two years ago in Atlanta, she started receiving anonymous notes that meticulously described her whereabouts throughout the day. The local authorities never found out who was responsible. Recently, she moved to Maryland. Brought the stalker with her."

"They think it's the same person?" Morgan asked and JJ nodded.

"He includes photographs of himself," Emily added.

JJ clicked the remote and some pictures came up—one of the guy's hand, his arm, his neck, his chest.

"None of his face," I commented. "That's very telling. He's either trying to protect his identity or he's got self-image issues. He's controlling the parts of his body that he shows her."

"He writes to Keri in these letters about their future together," Emily told us. "Having kids, growing old… He believes Keri is in love with him and just doesn't know it yet."

"Okay, so the guy's clearly delusional," Morgan said. "But what makes this a BAU case?"

"He is _so_ obsessed that he tracked her over six-hundred miles away."

"That _is_ unusual," Reid said. "Typically, a stalker will change his focus to another woman if the object of his affection moves away."

"I mean, I get that. I mean, he's way past a first-level escalation, but…still…" Morgan trailed off.

"When Keri received the first letter in Maryland, she went to the locals for protection. They told her they couldn't help her. This woman is in serious danger," Emily said.

"This case is in _my_ hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her…" JJ was holding a little piece of notepad paper. "I'll be the one notifying her family."

Morgan was fidgeting around with his hands while he thought. Then he splayed one of them out. "Okay."

* * *

JJ, Emily, and I were outside of Keri Derzmond's office, just about to go and talk to the woman.

"What was that?" Emily asked as JJ pressed a button on her phone.

JJ waved her hand. "Bureaucratic red tape," she said, putting it away. "Every case we take, I have to explain _why_ in terms of cost and size relative to the BAU. They don't always think it's worth it," she explained as we walked down the street.

"And you do have five agents doing the work that locals should," Emily pointed out.

"Just because there isn't a dead body doesn't mean we shouldn't take the case," JJ vented.

"Hey, I—the fact that law enforcement, including the FBI, can't help someone until they've been injured is _appalling_," Emily said defensively. "…All I'm saying is it _is_ a drain on the system."

"Emily," JJ said, stopping in front of a plaque just as we were about to go into the building. "Last year, in Denver, a woman was being harassed by her ex-boyfriend. Cops knew who he was, but they couldn't arrest him. We didn't take that case. She was finally granted a restraining order three days_ after_ he threw acid in her face. Right now, I don't-I don't care about limited resources. I cannot make that same mistake again."

Emily nodded solemnly and made her way up the exterior stairs. A secretary led us into Keri's office and we took a seat at her desk. I introduced myself to her, but she had already met with JJ and Emily.

"Why the move to Maryland?" I asked.

"Ryan lives here," she explained. He was her fiancé. "And my firm just opened an office. The move wasn't because of the stalker, although the police back in Atlanta thought it was a good idea. I'm _always_ cautious. But for the first time, I felt that if I looked over my shoulder, no one would be there."

"We need you to make a list of names," Emily said, "of everyone you know. Even acquaintances. Both here and in Georgia."

Keri nodded. "Okay," she whispered.

"Don't forget ex-boyfriends or…any indiscretions," JJ said.

"Nothing is insignificant," I told her as she started to write down on a notepad.

"If I knew what I was doing to make this guy so obsessed, I'd stop," Keri said, looking up at JJ.

"When your paths crossed, something clicked with _him_," JJ said. "If you were smiling, he _probably_ thought you were smiling at him."

"We have no way of knowing what his fantasy is," Emily mentioned. "What we do know is you're the star of it."

A knock came on the door and it alarmed Keri. The door opened and the secretary popped her head in.

"It's Ryan. He says it's an emergency," she said.

Immediately, Keri picked up her phone and pressed a button. "You okay? … Yeah, they're here now…" she put her phone to her shoulder to talk to us. "Ryan's at home. There's another card and a box at the door."

"Tell him not to touch it. We're on our way," I said, standing up.

* * *

"Here it is," Ryan said. He was tall, muscular, and handsome. "I appreciate you guys driving Keri home," he added as Emily picked up the gifts left in the box. She handed JJ the card. We were standing in their living room. "Ever since this guy showed up again, I've been taking her everywhere."

"What? Did he send something that could hurt me?" Keri asked as we all sat down.

"Probably not," Emily said, unwrapping the gift. "But, we don't wanna take any chances."

"You really think this guy would do something like that after all this time?" Ryan leaned forward.

"At this point, you haven't done anything to provoke him," I said as Emily opened the box to reveal a little jewelry box.

"It's just a pair of earrings," she said, showing the couple.

"They look like antiques," Keri said.

"Says they were his grandmothers," JJ said, looking up from the letter. "Family heirloom."

"He wants to make you a part of his family," Emily said, snapping the jewelry box shut.

"Oh, we have the back of his head now," JJ said, looking at the picture. "He hopes that, uh, you give him a gift soon, too."

"What does that mean?" Keri asked.

"We should probably get this back to the station and start a trace," I said, gesturing to the earrings.

"You can find him that way?" Ryan asked as I stood up.

"Uh, first-class mail's harder to track, but we'll see," I told them as they stood up as well.

"Officers will be driving by your house periodically, looking for anything suspicious," JJ said. "And you have my number if anything happens."

"We'll call and let you know if we find anything," Emily promised.

"Thank you," Keri said. Ryan put his arm around her.

We walked out of the house and JJ sighed. "His confidence is building. And now he wants something. What do you think that is?"

"I dunno. I'm scared about what happens when she doesn't give it to him," Emily said, looking at the box in the evidence bag she was carrying.

* * *

Apparently the unsub scaled Keri and Ryan's fence, unlocked the gate, took their dog, and threw his collar on the neighbor's lawn over the night. That led us to believe that he would probably try to harm Ryan next.

"You think he's got the guts for a confrontation?" he asked as Emily, JJ, and I talked to him and Keri.

"He moved here, took Brody," JJ pointed out. "He's not gonna let anything get in his way."

"He _cares_ about Keri. Maybe he won't hurt her. He hasn't yet."

"He doesn't _want_ to," Emily told him. "But—if he feels like he's going to lose her, then he will."

"Lose her?"

"He's been rejected his whole life. To escape, he built a _vivid_ fantasy world in which someone accepted him," I said, looking at Keri with a wistful smile.

"Me," she nodded.

"Worst-case scenario—he gets you alone," I told her. "In which case, it would be important for you to play along with his delusions."

"You mean like tell him I _love_ him?" Keri had a bit of attitude.

"Within reason," I elaborated. "Do what he wants."

"By gaining his trust, he'll let his guard down. And that's when you can make your move," JJ said.

"You think it could come to that?" Ryan asked.

JJ hesitated, "Well, not if we…can help it," as she spoke, she looked around as though the unsub was going to appear and attack. "We're gonna have to comb through your life—ever since he's been a part of it."

"Haven't we already done that…?" Keri shook her head.

"We're talking about _each_ and every moment for the last two years," Emily said. "The answer could be in the _smallest_ detail."

Keri seemed to contemplate that in her head. "Okay."

* * *

I sat with Emily and Keri in the living room. JJ had been with us, but she had left to speak privately with Garcia.

"We're looking for a connection to March twenty-first. Is that anyone's birthday or anniversary?" Emily asked. The unsub mentioned that particular date a lot.

"No, the twenty-first doesn't mean anything to me," Keri replied just as JJ walked in.

"What's up?" I asked her before she took a seat.

"Why'd you go to the clinic last year?" she asked Keri, who looked a little worried.

Emily sighed to fill the silence I felt I could cut with a knife. "We need full disclosure Keri."

"Ryan doesn't know," Keri looked at us, nonverbally asking us to keep it away from him. "Back when…we were figuring out…what this is…if I was moving…I was…pregnant." She looked down. "And I couldn't…I couldn't have a baby. Not then…"

"That was your decision," I told her. "You don't have to explain that to anyone."

"I know. It's just, Ryan's career was taking off and I didn't want to trap him—"

"Keri," JJ tried to stop her. I figured that Ryan was standing right behind us, listening to every word.

"—I didn't want us to have any regrets," Keri continued.

"Keri," JJ tried again. This time, we all looked back. And there her hunky fiancé was. He held up a big paper bag and put it on the little table behind the couch.

"Ryan," Keri said as he stared at her in disbelief. He said nothing and she made a sound in her throat.

"Were you ever gonna tell me?" he finally asked. Keri looked like she was about to cry. "I thought you wanted to have kids."

"…I do."

"You didn't think I'd drop _everything_ to raise a baby…"

"I knew that's _exactly_ what you'd do."

He looked around and then back to her. "I gotta go."

"Wait, Ryan, I'm sorry," Keri stood up as he left the house. When he didn't reply, she left the room, wiping her tears away.

"Keri," JJ got up. She rubbed her forehead and gave us a look.

_What a disaster…_

* * *

"Thanks," Emily said, walking into the station the next morning. "That was Detective Berry. He just took Ryan's police report. He's got about $500 worth of damage to his car." JJ sighed and leaned back in her chair. (When Ryan left the house, he found his windshield severely cracked via the stalker.) "Hey, why are you taking this so hard?"

"Keri's life has been turned upside down for the past two years. Then we just come on in and tear it up some more," JJ explained, taking Morgan's attention from the bulletin board onto her.

"But to catch her stalker, we have to ask those questions. She knew it would be uncomfortable."

"That's an understatement."

"JJ, you _fought_ for this case," Reid pointed out.

"You wanted to help Keri; that's what we're sitting here trying to do," Morgan added.

"Then why do I feel like we've violated her too?" JJ asked. When no one had an answer for her, she upped and left the room. We all exchanged glances. But before we knew it, JJ came back in. "Keri saw him."

Soon enough, we had Keri in the room with a sketch artist.

"I _knew_ I'd seen him before," she said thickly. "At my dry cleaners, at a restaurant… I didn't know where else to go."

"You did the right thing coming here," Detective Berry said. He was a younger guy with blonde hair.

"Keri, you're gonna get through this," JJ told her. "You're strong."

"You've been smart, you've taken every necessary precaution. You're not helpless, Keri," Morgan shook his head. "You're prepared and you're protected."

She sighed, her eyes full of worry. "I needed to hear that."

"Sounds like he's gonna talk to her," Berry commented.

"Could be a risky situation for him," I raised my eyebrows.

"Why him?" she looked at me.

"He's setting himself up for rejection. And if he feels anger or shame, there's a good chance he could turn violent," I explained.

"Alright, I'm gonna get this picture out," JJ said after the sketch artist handed her the picture. She walked out of the room and Berry followed her.

Keri's phone rang and she picked it up. She mumbled something and started to walk away for some privacy.

Emily got up and Morgan walked over to where we were standing.

"JJ okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, she will be," Emily said. "Once we get a lead," she added as an afterthought.

Keri walked back towards us. "That was Ryan. He's taking off for a couple of days to clear his head. But he wants to talk first." Emily nodded. "I'm gonna meet him at the house."

* * *

"What the hell happened?" JJ asked as we drove to Keri and Ryan's house. We met Detective Berry and another man. Out on the street were two cops and a man holding an icepack to his face.

"Said some guy in an old brown van paid him fifty bucks to walk the dog up and down the street. Told him to be careful—someone in the neighborhood was kidnapping people's pets," Berry said.

Emily scoffed and Ryan came out. I guess he had accosted the man and the unsub took Keri while he was preoccupied.

"The back door's off its hinges. Her cell's still in the house, her wallet," Ryan told us. He looked distraught. "Her purse is on the bed; he just—" Ryan did that thing that guys do, when they weave their fingers together and put them on the back of their head. "He just took her," he slapped his hands on his thighs. "I was right here."

"Let's go inside," Emily said, touching his arm and leading him in.

"What now?" Berry asked, stepping forward.

"Well, he finally got her," JJ said. "Some of us let her go." And with that, the three of us followed Emily and Ryan.

Inside were Reid and Morgan as well. Reid was sitting at a computer, corresponding with Garcia while Morgan held up the cell phone.

"_There aren't any vans in Georgia that have been transferred to Maryland. So, I am sending you registrations and IDs for both states—pictures comin' atcha_," our blonde technical analyst said. And true to her word, we were sent a ton of pictures.

"Let's start with Jeffrey Cramer, Chris Geezy, and Mike Hicks," Reid said.

"_Okay, Cramer works at a grocery store. Geezy is a heating and air tech. And Hicks…is on unemployment,_" Garcia revealed. "_But he's an IT guy. Last employed at Legal Grind. Tech support for law firms._"

"Keri's a lawyer. He-He might have worked on her computer."

"_He's got no criminal record…and his social is listed…at a bank there…and the account lists…Mike Hicks, 404 Lark Lane, Silver Spring_."

"Thanks, baby girl," Morgan said, hanging up the phone. He turned to Berry. "Alright, we've got a name and an address."

"Did he really take Keri to his place?" the detective asked.

"It's unlikely, but we should still check it out," Morgan shrugged.

"Alright, I'll send a cruiser."

"Every second we're here…she's alone with him," Ryan said.

"His obsession with Keri defines him," Emily said. "U-Uh, he wants to make her happy. He wouldn't take her where _he_ wants to go. He'd take her where _she_ wants to go."

"Maybe some place that means something to the both of you," I said, looking at Ryan.

He shook his head and then thought of something. "I proposed to her in Chesapeake Beach."

I exchanged glances with Emily, JJ, and Morgan. And next thing I knew, we were flying down the road. We stopped at a tourist-y place, where Ryan had proposed. Emily, JJ, a cop, and I hid behind a wall on the pier. We had our guns out and our vests on.

Just then, a man walked by, holding onto a very scared-looking Keri and a gun of his own. We inched out from our hiding spot until Mike Hicks noticed us. He jumped and backed up towards the railing when he noticed that he was surrounded. Keri was whimpering.

"Okay, okay," Emily still held her gun, but splayed her empty fingers in a non-threatening way. "Let's put these away," she said, lowering her gun. "I just wanna talk to you."

The unsub put his gun to Keri's temple. "Don't make me hurt her," he pleaded.

"You don't have to do that," Emily said. "Michael, we don't wanna take her away from you."

"Keri told me she wants to be with you," I added, hoping it would calm him down.

"It's true," the hostage lied. "I'm so happy now… If you think you're gonna hurt me…p-put it down, so we can be together. Where do you wanna go first? Uh, we could-we could go back to Atlanta. We could…find a little house," she reached to grab the hand clamped around her arm.

He lowered the gun and stared at her. His eyes were filled with lust and insanity. But as soon as he put the gun in his back pocket, Keri rushed over to where Berry had been. Morgan flew out from the other side and tackled Hicks to the ground.

"Come here!" he turned the stalker onto his stomach. "Come here!" I watched as Morgan straddled the guy's back. He took the gun and handed it to the cop. "Take that!"

I then noticed that JJ and Emily had run off to go comfort Keri, so I followed them. And just as I got over there, Morgan stood Hicks up.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?!" he shouted. "AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE DONE FOR US!" Berry walked him to a cruiser. "THEY CAN'T KEEP US APART!"

"You did great," Emily said, rubbing her arm.

"He worked on my computer," Keri recollected. "That's where I met him."

"It's okay," JJ shook her head.

Just then Reid walked up to us with a piece of paper. "I found this in his van, along with about a hundred photos of Keri." I looked over Emily's shoulder and saw that it was Keri's invoice.

Ryan ran over to his fiancée. "Keri," he said, pulling her into an embrace."

"February 21, 2006," Reid continued. "A month later he sent his first letter."

"He thought it was their anniversary," I said.

Reid nodded and we set off for Quantico. As soon as we got back, we decided to go out have some fun. I was _not_ looking forward to seeing Morgan when Rossi was around— fortunately, he was not joining us. JJ was tired, so she wasn't going either. It was just going to be Reid, Emily, Morgan, and me.

Fun.


	14. Tabula Rasa

** "It's remarkable. Something** like this makes you question everything you thought you knew."

"Yeah. It's like the Monolith in 2001."

"So there was actually a _time_ when something like this was socially acceptable?"

"Oh, you're young. The '80s left a lot of people confused. This is, uh…" Garcia held out the picture she and Reid had been looking at and my jaw dropped, "_especially _sad, though."

It was Emily's high school picture. And she looked like she should have been in KISS. Or _Cats._

"Alright, _very _funny," Emily said.

"Y'know, I went through _my_ dark phase, but never to _that_ extent," I admitted, laughing.

"Guys, very funny," Emily ignored me and took the picture from them. "What'd you do to it?"

"Do?" Garcia questioned.

"You obviously altered in Photoshop or something. That hair—"

"Oh, no, pussy-cat. That's…that's all you. Garfield High, class of '89."

"…You really didn't change anything?" Emily's voice was full of disappointment.

"I hacked it—as is. You're seriously trying to tell me you don't remember rocking that look?"

Emily slowly shook her head side to side.

"Perhaps your lack of recognition stems from the dissociative fugue suffered from adolescence," Reid said. "Say, at a Siouxsie and the Banshees concert?"

Garcia and I laughed.

"So weird…" Emily said as Hotch came down to our level. "It's like some other life." As soon as she noticed he was behind her, she put the paper face-down on the desktop. "What was that about?" She was referring to the phone call Hotch had received prior to.

"Brian Matloff," he said.

"Who?" Garcia asked.

"The Blue Ridge Strangler, right?" I looked at Reid. He nodded his confirmation. This was before my time. I had been brought onto the team shortly before Elle (but obviously, my career has outlived hers. She kinda went crazy after the Fisher King shot her a few years ago… Long story).

"Oh—wait, that was, like, four years ago," Garcia looked at Hotch.

"Three victims in the Blue Ridge Parkway," Emily said. Hotch nodded to her.

"Allegedly. He was never convicted," Reid said. "Uh, he slipped into a coma before he could be tried."

"Looks like they're finally gonna get their chance," Hotch said solemnly. "He just woke up."

* * *

"He had a type. Brunette, young…they were jogging," Rossi said. I was standing next to him by a table covered in photographs in the DA's office with Hotch and the attorney herself, Cece Hillenbrand. We were helping the older, pretty blonde to work on her case. Apparently, Matloff had lost his memory. How convenient.

"Awesome," I rolled my eyes, gazing at the pictures of the bodies face-down in the dirt. Rossi smirked at me.

"Alone, early in the morning," Hotch added.

"Easy prey," Rossi commented.

Cece hung up her phone. "Well, that's about the worst news I could've gotten," she stood up. "Marvin Leopold, our only key-witness, _died_…two years ago."

"He OD?" Hotch asked.

"How'd you know?"

"I remember he had a heroin problem."

"Your best witness was a _junkie_…?" Rossi asked.

"It was solid. He put Matloff at the park with Darci Corbett—victim number three. The warrant and the indictment were made largely on the witness. Everything else is circumstantial," Cece explained.

"I could name a dozen killers who got convicted with less."

"Well, you're not the one arguing a rail-thin case in front of the twenty-third circuit."

"The Rocket Docket," Hotch said, making me smile.

"Gives me half the time to prepare," Cece said.

"I can help you prep," he offered.

"And we'll go over the case with our team," Rossi said, looking at me. "The local detective retired. There may be lines of investigation that fell off." He put his hand on my back.

"I appreciate it," she said as we walked away.

* * *

Brian Matloff agreed to do this brain fingerprinting thing to try and jog his memory, much to his lawyer's chagrin. But he showed no familiarity with the images shown to him.

Meanwhile, JJ found out that a woman named Nina Moore visited Matloff in the hospital about twice a year.

I leaned against a desk with JJ and Morgan, waiting with the rest of the team for Rossi and Hotch to walk over. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Morgan smirk at me. I blushed and subtly kicked him in the shin.

"And that's why I distrust all technology," Rossi said. I hadn't really been paying any attention to their conversation 'til that point.

"So how'd he get over?" Morgan asked. "I thought _nobody_ could beat this test."

"The damage to his parietal lobe must have been more extensive than previously thought. The brain injury could have _literally_ deleted his memories," Reid pointed out.

"Oh, he did the murders," Rossi said. "And we'll prove it. What he remembers doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?" Emily asked. "I mean, if those experiences are gone forever, doesn't that sort of make him…I dunno, like—"

"Different person?" Reid supplied.

"U-Uh, yeah."

"No, not at all," Morgan shook his head.

"It's interesting, though—"

"Not to me," Rossi interrupted Reid.

"I-It goes to core arguments about the nature of identity," Reid turned to look at him. "Th-There's a western philosophical concept: causal dependence. It says that a psychological connection to the past plays a key role in defining who we are."

"Wait," I furrowed my brow. "What are you saying? That this guy shouldn't be tried?"

"No, I'm not saying _that_."

"But one _could_ make the argument that in his current condition, he's no longer a danger to society," Emily pointed out.

"Not until he gets his memory back," Rossi said.

"Look, it's not just about this guy being a danger. It's about making sure somebody pays for what happened to those girls," Morgan said.

"But it's not up to us to decide to what extent he should be punished. That's for the courts," Hotch told us. "Where're we with Matloff's mystery visitor?"

"Prentiss and I contacted _every_ recorded Nina Moore—" they both rolled their eyes "—within five hundred miles of the hospital. Seventy-one in total; no takers," JJ told him.

"Matloff's a textbook loner," Hotch shook his head. "No meaningful relationships. No family. No girlfriends. But anyone who would visit a _coma_ patient—"

"A _triple-murderer_ coma patient," Morgan corrected.

"We're talking about somebody who feels connected to him," Hotch finished.

"Maybe connected enough to know the truth," I shrugged.

"Truth could be she's just a fan," Rossi piped up. "Every serial killer's got 'em."

"Let's go back to the hospital and interview the staff," Hotch ordered. "We need to build a profile and help locate this woman."

* * *

After our trip to the hospital, JJ, Emily, and I walked to Rossi's office. We would've walked right on in, but he was on the phone.

"Good," he said, noticing us. He gestured for us to enter. "Okay, give me a call after the defense has had a go at him." Rossi hung the phone up. JJ and Emily sat down in the chairs and I stood behind them. "Reid says things are good at the trial. How'd it go at the hospital?"

"Carnegie's filled in some blanks about the woman who visited Matloff," JJ said, looking at her notebook. "Uh, late forties to mid-fifties with a quiet, almost nervous demeanor."

"On her first visit, she didn't even make it into the room. She just stood in the doorway and watched for a minutes and then left," Emily said. I was nervous about talking to Rossi in front of them. I was paranoid that Morgan had told Emily and JJ about my little problem…

"And on later visits, she'd, what? Sit with him? Talk to him?" Rossi asked.

"Read to him," Emily told him. He gave her a strange look. "Uh, on more than one occasion, she asked the nurses about his condition, and they said she appeared, uh, _concerned_ with his pain."

"That sounds almost maternal."

"We thought so too, but…his parents effectively disowned him after the indictment," JJ said.

"So, we called his mother to make sure," Emily continued. "Got to talking, and guess what? She's not his mother."

"And his father's not his father."

"Matloff was adopted?" Rossi asked. He looked straight at me, so I figured I had to answer that question with a nod.

"This visitor _could_ be his birth mother. She's the right age," I said. "They may have had a relationship no one knew about."

"What other physical description did you get?"

"Uh, brunette, brown eyes, dark complexion. One nurse thought Hispanic. Another one said Mediterranean," JJ told him.

Rossi leaned forward in his chair, "What about Native American?"

"That would explain his interest in the culture," Emily said, looking at JJ. I guess, four years ago, they found a lot of Native American things. And according to Reid, it's a Native American belief that if you bury someone face down, their souls become trapped and they won't haunt the killer.

"He's trying to get in touch with his roots."

* * *

Garcia found the real woman. It turns out that she denied ever going to Roanoke, where Matloff had been hospitalized. She got us the address and Rossi took me with him to the woman's house.

"How come you hardly talked in my office today? You're usually not that quiet," he observed as we walked across her front lawn.

"I see why Garcia hates profilers now," I smirked. "I, uh… JJ and Emily were on a roll."

"Care to tell me the real reason?"

"I did." _Kinda_.

He looked at me and shook his head. Fortunately, we had reached the stoop and I rang the doorbell.

"Nina Moore?" Rossi asked when the short, older woman answered the door. She was definitely Native American.

"Yes?" she asked in a breathy voice.

"We're with the FBI," he held up his badge and so did I.

Nina seemed to catch on. Somewhat avoiding our eyes, she said, "Come in." She held the door open for us and led us into the living room.

"Why didn't you come forward?" Rossi asked.

"I was protecting my family," Nina said from beside me on the couch.

"They don't know," I concluded.

Nina looked at me and shook her head. "I was a kid myself. You give away a child… I know it sounds cold, but you just wanna forget about it. Believe it never happened. So, that's how I lived."

"But you maintained a relationship with Brian," Rossi pointed out.

"Maintained? No. I _only_ saw him once before the accident."

"You never got the sense that maybe he was…" I trailed off.

"A murderer?" Nina raised her eyebrows. "Not in the slightest! I think it was probably… Well, I mean, from what I understand in the news…we met before it started."

"And when was that meeting?" Rossi asked.

"Five years ago. He just…called me out of the blue. The records were supposed to be sealed. I think he hired someone to find me."

"And what did you talk about?"

"He was interested in…my family. My kids. He just…wanted to call every once in awhile. And maybe meet around the holidays. But I couldn't," Nina looked at me. "I could barely bring myself to look at him. I just…" Nina appeared to be near tears.

"You rejected him," Rossi told her.

"Whatever he became, I can't help but feel that…it's _my_ fault."

I gently touched her hand. "You can't blame yourself for what he did."

"Why did you visit him at the hospital?" Rossi asked, tearing his eyes off me.

Nina looked up at him, "Because it was safe, I suppose. I could be there for him. And no one had to know. Because when I would read to him and listen to his breathing…it felt right."

The front door opened. "Whose car is that out there?" asked a male voice. Just then, an older man in a suit walked into the adjoining dining room. "Oh," he stared at us as we stood up. "Hello." He looked at Nina. "Who's this?"

"Excuse me," she just walked through Rossi and me, went over to the man, who I assumed was her husband, and led him out of the room to speak in privacy.

"That's a lot to explain," I said, staring at Rossi. He nodded and looked down at me.

"She rejected him. That was the stressor," he said.

"She's just lucky he took no for an answer," I chewed my lip. "Could've been a lot worse if he had pressed the issue."

Just then, Rossi turned away and looked at something. "Maybe he did…" He stepped forward and stood in the doorway to the kitchen, "Mrs. Moore," he said as I came up beside him. "Did he ever send you anything? Any gifts?"

Nina led us upstairs to a bureau in her room. She opened a drawer and pulled out a jewelry box. "I wanted to throw them away, but…I couldn't." She opened up the box and showed us the contents within.

Rossi and I exchanged glances. They were the victims' necklaces and watch.

* * *

At the trial, it was believed that Matloff had been regaining his memory. Then he attacked his guard, carjacked a woman, and drove away.

"_Assuming his memory _is_ coming back, where is he headed?_" Hotch asked via his cell phone.

"Simple answer's his birth mother. His victims were brunettes. Typology suggests that he was projecting rage at her," Morgan told him, looking through the pictures. We were all sitting in the bullpen. Oh, yeah, Reid had been with Hotch pretty much the whole time. Sorry if I forgot to mention that earlier.

"_That's not an option. She's with us, protected._"

"He doesn't have a specific target," Rossi said. "He'll either run…or go on a spree."

"Did we do this?" Emily asked. "The brain test? Re-introducing all those memories? Is it possible that it could have acted as a cognitive rehabilitation?"

"This guy is who he is. That's got nothing to do with us," Rossi said.

_Beep!_

Hotch hung up on us.

I felt bad that we didn't have any answers for him… But I guess Reid had supplied him with one. They found Matloff cradling his first body at its crime scene. He admitted to remembering the murders and pled out.

The case was done.


	15. Lo-Fi

** JJ pulled us** into the bullpen about a case. I was one of the first in there and saw Hotch watching a grainy security tape on the flat screen. It showed a man standing on a subway platform. Then a figure in black walked by and shot the man in the head, never once stopping.

"Don't get comfortable," Hotch paused the video. "There'll be time to debrief on the plane."

"Where are we headed?" I asked.

"New York."

"Five shootings in two weeks. It's about time we got the call," Rossi said from behind me.

"I wanna take Garcia with us. Hopefully they'll give us access to their surveillance systems," Hotch said.

"What do we know?" Prentiss asked.

"All the killings are midday," he told us. "Single gunshot to the head with a .22."

"Any witnesses?" JJ asked.

"No," he shook his head.

Reid said something about New York being too loud for people to register hearing the gunshot, but alas, he spoke too fast for me to catch up that time.

"Sound like mob hits," Morgan said.

"Except none of them have ties to organized crime," Hotch pointed out.

"Do they have any connection to each other?" I asked.

"None they've found."

"How about communication with the police?" Morgan asked. "Has the unsub tried to make contact?"

"Surveillance cameras have captured video of three of the murders," Hotch clicked the remote and showed us the one he had been watching when I walked in. "This is the latest."

"That's the best image they have?" JJ asked skeptically.

"They're all the same," Hotch pressed another button, showing a similar video, only this time by a street light. "He wears a hood and keeps his head down." He pulled up the most recent video again.

"This guy's bold," Emily observed. "Crowded areas, broad daylight…"

"So, they're completely random?" Rossi asked.

"Seems that way," Hotch said.

"It's Son of Sam all over again," Reid said.

And I agreed wholeheartedly.

* * *

"How come I only get to travel with you guys, like, once every two years?" Garcia asked as she boarded the plane.

"Trust me, Mama, it _can_ get old," Morgan told her. They walked past where I was sitting. I almost sunk down in my seat to avoid his gaze when he noticed that I was sitting next to Rossi.

"Oh, _right_. Like the way that spa treatments and five star hotels can get old," Garcia deadpanned.

"Remember the time we got onboard and they hadn't chilled the Cristal?" Emily teased as she walked down the aisle.

"Ooh, I almost quit the BAU that day," Morgan added.

"Okay, you know what? You guys can joke all you want 'cause I am _never_ leaving this plane," Garcia made me laugh through my nose as she followed Emily.

I looked next to me and saw the pictures Rossi was looking at. They were of all the victims of the random shootings.

"Victims?" Rossi asked, looking up at Hotch.

"Each killed in a completely different neighborhood," he told him. "Hell's Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown, East Harlem…"

"It doesn't make any sense," Reid said from right next to him. "There's no common victimology, no sexual component, no robbery, no geographical connection. Um…do the police have any leads?"

"He's killing roughly every two days. The press is having a field day. And it sounds like the mood on the street's getting pretty edgy."

"It's a joint FBI/NYPD task force?" I asked and Hotch nodded.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She's running point on the case and called me directly," he said. He looked up over the seats, "Uh, JJ, would you tell him we're ready to go?"

"Right," JJ said after a moment's hesitation. She must have noticed how antsy he was, too.

"Kate's starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes," he said to Rossi.

"Joyner—I know her. She's a Brit, right?" Morgan asked.

"Well, dual-citizenship. Her father's British, her mother's American. She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before joining the Bureau," Hotch said. He seemed like quite the expert on the woman.

_Maybe he's moving on from Haley…?_ I wondered.

"I've heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass," Morgan commented.

"…I didn't think so."

"You know her?" Emily stared at our unit chief.

"W-We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard," he explained.

"And she's good?" Rossi asked.

"I think we're lucky to have her."

"_And we're clear for take off. Please take your seats_," the pilot said over the intercom.

Morgan and Emily went to sit down while Rossi, Hotch, Reid, and I buckled our seatbelts. I pulled out a pack of gum from my pocket and took a piece to chew. Moments later, we started moving and before we knew it, we were airborne.

* * *

The elevator dinged and the doors opened up. We followed Hotch out into the land of desks and saw a young blonde woman all dressed in black walk out to meet us. And she looked _just_ like Haley. A brunette followed her like a puppy and I assumed that was her assistant or something.

"Is it just me or does she look exactly like Haley?" JJ muttered to Garcia from behind me.

I turned my head and smirked, "That's what I was thinking."

"Kate," Hotch said, holding out his hand.

"Aaron," she smiled. She certainly _was_ British. "How've you been?"

"Well, thank you. Uh, this is my team," he looked at Rossi. "Kate Joyner, uh, this is David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Hunter McCarthy, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, and Spencer Reid." We all nodded to her.

"Thanks for being here," she said. "And anything that you need, just tell me. And _please_ don't stand on protocol."

"What can you tell us about the city's surveillance system?" Garcia asked.

"Um, it's run by the NYPD. Still in the infant stages. It's been rather controversial. American privacy laws," she looked back at her assistant, as though making the comment at her expense. "Um, but they've had _some_ success."

"And I'll have complete access?" Garcia asked hopefully.

"They're already expecting you. Shelly," Kate looked at her assistant.

"Uh, I'd like to get a map of the burrow," Reid said as Garcia walked past him. "Uh, I want to do a comprehensive geographical profile of the area in order to ascertain the unsub's mental map before it's clouded by our own linkage blindage." As he spoke, two cops—a handsome young one and a stout older one—came up beside him.

"I see you brought your own computer," the old one said grumpily.

"Detectives Brustin and Cooper," Haley—I mean Kate—gestured to them. The young one, Cooper, nodded. "I'll let you do the introductions."

"You caught the first shooting?" Rossi asked, looking at the two.

"Uh, they've all been in different precincts," Cooper said. He had a scratchy voice. I think he was Italian…? Maybe Hispanic…I dunno. Regardless, he was probably a smoker. Or maybe recently quit. "Wasn't until the third murder that anyone even made the connection."

"I guess this is where we play nice and ask you what you need," Brustin said.

Kate laughed awkwardly, "I'll let you all figure out what that is. I just ask that you run _everything_ back through me. It's been my experience that having _one_ butt on the line is enough."

"Yes, ma'am," Brustin scoffed.

"Can I have a word with you in private?" Kate asked, stepping very close to Hotch.

"Sure," he replied. I exchanged amused glances with Emily and tried my hardest not to smirk. "Excuse me."

"They, um, _liaised_ when she was at Scotland Yard," she leaned into JJ once Hotch and Kate had moved out of the way.

"Of course," JJ grinned and nodded.

Rossi took the initiative to start talking to the detectives. Cooper was agreeable, but Brustin was a gruff asshole. But Reid found out later on that he was just bitter because Kate was meeting with the mayor and calling us in without letting him know.

* * *

"Who in the hell thinks they can get away with murder in the middle of the day in New York City?" Morgan asked, stepping away from the edge of the platform.

He, Rossi, Brustin, and I were at the latest crime scene. The people waiting for the subway watched us curiously.

"Someone patient," Rossi said. "He waits for the one who gets separated from the flock."

Morgan came up behind him and held up his finger gun to the back of Rossi's head, "Bang."

"Is that the spot?" I asked, pointing down at my feet. I looked to Brustin for an answer.

"Yeah, thereabouts," he finally said, not really looking at us. He walked over to the edge of the platform.

Rossi sighed. "Are we boring you?" he asked. Brustin looked up at us and sighed himself. "Look, I know you don't like SSA Joyner. Fine, I get it. But we're here to do a job."

"Have any of your people ever been cops?" Brustin asked. Rossi looked at Morgan.

"Chicago," he said.

"Then you'll understand. I take it _real_ personal when something like this happens in my city. I was a beat cop during the Son of Sam. This is worse. He's not just going after one type. He's going after _everybody_. And I need everybody working on this case. Taking it personally."

"You have that," I pointed out.

"We'll see," Brustin pressed his lips together in a fine line.

"Well, this guy's definitely not afraid to get up close and personal," Morgan said after the initial awkwardness subsided.

"Or be visible," I said.

"Watch the tape. He ducks his head the second he steps off the train," Rossi said.

"So, he knows when he's being filmed," I nodded.

"Well, we've had glimpses, but he…" Brustin shook his head. "Descriptions have been sketchy. Some people say that he's a light-skinned black man. Asian. Puerto Rican. Basically, every homeboy in the city."

"Ballistics were the same for every shooting?" Morgan asked.

"Well, we checked the records back ten years. The gun's never been recycled."

".22s aren't exactly the weapon of choice these days."

"Unless you're Israeli Intelligence," Rossi pointed out. "It's what Mossad uses for all their political assassinations."

"All I know is this guy's organized," Morgan said, staring up at the ceiling. "Studies the cameras. Carries a gun that's easy to conceal. He knows what he's doing."

* * *

Another man was killed. Only this time in a much more public place. Like right on the edge of a public street as he was hailing a taxi.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Cooper told us as he and Brustin walked up. "Doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."

Morgan was staring up at one of the surveillance cameras. "It's over in a flash. He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."

"Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam?" Kate asked Brustin.

But before I heard an answer, I went over to find Rossi. He was holding an evidence baggie in his hand along with his little notebook. I had to wait for some people to push the body bag on its gurney up into the ambulance.

"Hey," I said, trying to get Rossi's attention.

"What's up?" he asked, not looking at me.

"You got something?" I raised my eyebrows and tried to see what was in the baggie.

"It was found by the body," he told me as Hotch finally came over. Brustin and Cooper showed up as well.

"Six murders and he's finally communicating with us," Rossi said, looking up at him. He handed him the baggie

"What's that?" Cooper asked

"That's a tarot card," I said, looking at evidence baggie as Kate and Morgan joined our little powwow. "Death."

Cooper said something about the guy being a psycho, but I wasn't entirely sure of everything he said.

"So, we think this guy's into spiritual garbage?" Brustin asked, making me smirk.

"Well, if he is, he certainly doesn't know tarot," Hotch said. "The death card doesn't actually signify physical death. It's more of a transformation from one place to another. A job promotion or a marriage."

"So, if he's not telling us he's into fortune telling, what's with the card?" Cooper asked.

"The DC sniper left the exact same card at one of his scenes," Rossi explained.

"So, this unsub must see himself in that role," Kate concluded. "He's _thriving_ off creating a panic."

"More importantly, he studies other cases. He's telling us he _knows_ we're here," I folded my arms across my chest and took one last look at the tarot card.

* * *

We walked back into the station through the reporters and photographers and news crews. As soon as we were inside, we went up to the floor that Emily, JJ, and Reid were on. The three of them were surrounding a computer.

"What have we got?" Hotch asked.

"It's the latest shooting," JJ said.

We watched the screen, seeing the man with his arm up in the air, then the unsub coming up behind him and shooting him. We watched as the victim collapsed and the unsub run off across the street.

"_This_ was the previous murder," Emily said, showing us the subway killing. "Okay, do you see anything weird here?"

"He sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other," I said. "It's two entirely different demeanors."

"Six kills in, his behavior should be set," Rossi commented.

"Look at this," Reid leaned into the computer. "Uh, Garcia, are you still there?"

"_Would I ever leave you? Okay, check it out. I did a digital perspective analysis rendering _on_ the shootings where we have footage. Now, the first two are inconclusive, but the last two, I have found something _très_ weird. Your calm, walking type…_he_ is about six-foot-one. But your sprinter—he's, like, five-nine, five-ten tops._"

Some of us exchanged glances as we looked at the analyses Garcia did. But it was Hotch who spoke the words on all of our lips.

"We've got more than one unsub."

"So, we have more than one unsub… What does that tell us?" Rossi asked after the initial shock wore off.

"Most teams stick together. Uh, Ng and Lake, the Krays, Bittaker and Norris. They don't usually kill separately," Reid informed us.

"Could be some kinda gang initiation," Morgan suggested.

"Oh, gangs'll kill you if you encroach on their territory. Not random people all over the city," Emily pointed out.

"I'll coordinate with the gang task-force, make sure we have an overview by morning," JJ told us, walking away.

"Do you think we have enough for a working profile?" Kate asked.

"Broad strokes," Rossi nodded.

"Dave, you and Reid talk to the agents here. Morgan, McCarthy, and Prentiss, brief the police when each shift comes on duty tomorrow," Hotch ordered.

"I think we should get out on the streets," Morgan said.

"I brought you here to create a profile," Kate took me aback.

Morgan wasn't taking it. "Which we can give in the morning and then _they_ can share it with the afternoon shift."

"We've allocated every extra man we have. And this is New York City. It's not like a _few_ more people is going to blanket the city," she said, obviously trying to remain sweet and polite. I heard that if she didn't solve this case, then she was going to lose her job or something and Morgan was on top of the list for consideration.

"I understand it's a long shot. But these guys, they hit at midday. We could target ingress and egress to particular neighborhoods," Morgan told Kate, who wouldn't even look at him. "Position us near express stops. 14th—"

"Morgan," Hotch interrupted.

"—42nd—"

"Morgan."

"—59th—"

"_Morgan._ It's not your call," Hotch told him.

There was a pause, an awkward silence. I feel like Morgan _did_ have a valid point. But Hotch was right: It wasn't his call.

"I'd like to join you in the profile…if that's not stepping on your toes," Kate looked at Rossi.

"No problem," he said calmly.

Morgan left the room and I almost followed him.

Hotch leaned over a gaping Emily's shoulder, staring at the computer screen, "Let's see it again."

* * *

We left the elevator and got off on our floor in the hotel. On a shelf nearby the elevators lay a bunch of newspapers talking about the case we were working on.

"Guys, look at this," Emily said, picking one up. "Late edition doesn't miss a beat." Reid, Hotch, and JJ crowded around her to look at it. But I was distracted by a certain figure sitting on a pea green armchair in the distance.

"JJ," I said, pointing to him. We both watched as he put his messenger bag over his shoulder and stood up.

"Will," the blonde said, walking closer.

I didn't clearly hear what he said, so instead, Emily and I shared smirks. Usually, the man's eyes always looked tired, but he looked especially exhausted just then.

"Detective," Hotch held his hand out to shake.

"I'm sorry for showing up like this," Will drawled. "I know you're working. But, um…" he looked at JJ and sighed, "I can't stand you being on this case and me not being here." JJ re-gripped the strap on her bag nervously. "Not with what's going on."

The pretty blonde liaison subtly shook her head, like she didn't want him to talk about something right then and there because she hadn't told us yet.

"Is there a problem?" Hotch furrowed his brow.

Will looked down and then at JJ. He must have figured out that we were kept in the dark.

"Unh," JJ whispered. Slowly, she turned around and faced us all. "Uh, uh, I'm pregnant," she grinned.

"Oh my God, JJ!" Emily threw her arms around the woman. "Congratulations!"

Reid looked absolutely miffed. I beamed and then looked at Hotch. He was smiling, which seemed unnatural.

"I've asked JJ to marry me," Will admitted.

"_Will_," JJ said, looking at him.

"W-Well, we're working out some things," he said, making JJ laugh as she hugged Reid, then me.

"We'll, uh, give you both some privacy," Hotch started to walk away. JJ said his name and followed him.

"Congratulations, Mr. LaMontagne," I said, shaking Will's hand.

"Thank you," he nodded.

"Well, I'm gonna go to bed. I'm beat," I waved and pulled out my hotel key from my pocket as I walked down the hallway, my Converse sounding like tap shoes on the glossy, stone floors.

* * *

"Okay, let's start with what we know," Morgan said as we briefed the cops. Emily leaned on a podium. I stood between Morgan and Detective Cooper on the other side of it. "With these unsubs…it is not personal. It's not about sex. It's not about greed."

"Which is why we think there's something bigger at play here," Emily pointed out. "This isn't random. There has to be a motive."

"Now, our first theory is that we're dealing with a team," I said. "Take, for instance, the DC Snipers. There was only one intended victim. John Muhammad wanted to kill his ex-wife. But he knew that if he did, he'd be the prime suspect. So, in order to mask his primary motivation, he created a spree with his son, Lee Boyd Malvo. They left the death card at one of their scenes, just like the unsub did."

"We believe our unsubs have studied that case. They're opening a line of communication," Emily said.

"Hold on, so, now we've got these guys playing games just 'cause _you're_ here?" a balding cop said. Brustin chuckled.

"We're just saying the unsubs are sophisticated enough to study other crimes," Emily said.

"That doesn't answer the question," a dark-haired guy pointed out.

"Joe, easy," Cooper said. "Hear 'em out."

"Hey, I got requests for gun permits up two hundred percent in my precinct. This whole city's about to go off, and we all need to deal with that," Joe told him.

"Hey, listen," Morgan said. "You're right. If the card was left because of us, then yes, they _are_ playing games. But what that tells us is at least one of them has some intelligence."

"And like I said, they _know_ about other cases. He's also studied the placement of the surveillance systems well enough to avoid detection," Emily said, picking up the stack of papers on the podium next to her. "These are all known gang members in Manhattan. Most of them are out of Chinatown and Clinton. We'd like you to study these and keep an eye out for anyone suspicious." She handed out the laminated packets to the cops.

"Like they said, we think there's something bigger at play here," Brustin said. "So, talk to the people on your beats, see if something sparks…and pray this thing ain't random."

* * *

Garcia and the woman she was working with caught live footage of another murder. I wasn't there to see it, but Morgan was pissed off because it happened at one of the places he had suggested we go to.

The next day, I went with Emily and Cooper onto the streets. Garcia was corresponding with us as we walked around. My comm. piece was a little fuzzy, so all I heard was something about 59th street, which was where we were.

"Check," Emily said.

We took a silent ride on a subway. And then when we got off, Cooper started talking. To Emily…not me. I could tell he had taken a liking to her.

"So, uh…if we're undercover, maybe we should, uh, you know…act like a couple," he said.

"And I'll be the third wheel," I muttered, standing behind them.

"Oh-h-h," Emily laughed, "are you still working this tired sexual tension angle?"

"I dunno. You're the fortune teller, you tell me" Cooper requested.

"You wanna know what profiling is really?"

"…Why do I have the feeling I'm gonna hear no matter what I say?"

"It's just noticing behavior."

"And I'm about to hear about mine, is that the deal?" he asked, stopping us by turning around and standing right in front of her.

"Okay," Emily shrugged. "When we first met, when your partner was sarcastic and said, 'yes, ma'am'…you instinctively reached for your detective shield, as if you were protecting it. That tells me you don't like him disrespecting the chain of command. But you're also loyal, so you didn't say something to him. I'd say you were military. Probably an officer. Praise in public, censure in private, right?" As she said this, he reached up and wiped his nose. "You're right-handed, but you have two different color pen marks on your left hand. I'd guess you have a toddler at home, just learning how to draw. You don't wear a ring. And you were quick to flirt with me. So, you're happy to let people think you are a _player_. But if I took you up on it, you would run for the hills because you love your wife, and you would never actually cheat on her."

Based on the facial expressions he made during her spiel, I'd say he was rather impressed.

"Wow," he nodded, as though confirming my hypothesis. "You might just solve this case yet."

Emily nodded too and I followed her as she continued walking, smirking at Cooper as he stared after my teammate. We walked up the stairs and outside, staring down the streets until we heard the sound of a gunshot not far from us.

"Garcia," Emily said into her watch. I could hear the sound of Garcia's voice, and then Emily touched Cooper's and my arm. "He's headed our way," she said, taking off. We walked down the street and saw a young black kid in a dark-colored sweatshirt with the hood on. He made eye contact and then ran off in the opposite direction. We pulled out our guns and started running.

I went ahead of the two, pushing my way through the crowded street. I could hear Cooper close behind me, shouting for people to move. The kid ran down a corner and I followed him. I held my gun up, and so did Cooper at my shoulder. But the kid was already holding his. He shot his gun twice and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground next to Cooper in immense pain. It felt like someone had plunged a burning hot knife into my shoulder.

Emily came up beside me and shot the kid twice. She ran over to see if he was still alive while I bit my lip and reached across my chest like Cooper to put pressure on my wound. Only it was like I was mirroring him because he was shot on the left side and I was shot on the right.

"Hunter! Cooper!" Emily said, coming back to us. She reached her wrist up to her mouth, "Garcia! We've got two officers down. 16th, west of union square! Lemme see," she had crouched down between us. We both took our bloody hands off and let her look at them. "Okay, you're gonna be okay," she said, looking at the both of us. She held her watch back up to her mouth, "GARCIA, CAN YOU SEE US?! We have two officers down!" She looked back at us. "Stay with me! Okay, you're gonna be okay. Cooper, stay with me. Hunter, keep those eyes open."

I tried my hardest to stay conscious. And just as I was afraid I would lose that battle, the ambulance came and carried us away…


	16. Mayhem

**_I _****_am standing_**_ in a field. A light breeze blows my elbow-length chestnut brown hair back. The hem of the white sundress I am wearing whips at my knees. I am fifteen years old again._

_ "Hunter McCarthy._"

_I turn around and see someone I haven't seen for a long time. She isn't staring at me—more like through me._

_ "Cassidy Lerette," I smile, rushing forward to hug her. But as soon as I get to her, she disappears and the feeling of a burning hot knife plunging through my right shoulder resurfaces._

* * *

An empty street.

A bulky black Bureau SUV.

Two figures walking toward it.

An explosion.

* * *

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

_ I open my eyes to find the source of the breathy voice._

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

_ I look around. Nothing but green grass and blue skies._

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

_ "Cassie?" I whisper, hoping for my friend to respond._

"WE'RE HERE; PLEASE!"

"HOTCH! HOTCH!"

_ "Morgan…Hotch," I say, running in the direction of the two voices. But I don't seem to cover any ground. And then a gunshot rings out._

* * *

Two men on a dark subway track.

One walks across the tracks barefoot, holding out his arms to keep his balance.

One aims his gun right at him.

The one on the tracks puts his hands on his curly mop of hair, as per the other's orders.

He steps off and onto a wire, electrocuting himself in the process.

* * *

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

"I'm losing her! She's crashing! She's crashing! I'm losing her!"

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

_ "STOP!" I shout. And as soon as I say that, I fall back on the ground, my left hand clamped on top of my right shoulder._

* * *

A paramedic sits in an ambulance.

In front of him is what looks like an open, white casket.

He presses a button and places a device inside.

He plugs cords into the device and presses more buttons.

Little red circles are shown on the white cover.

High-pitched noises beep rapidly.

Satisfied with his work, he takes a deep breath and gets out, slamming the door with one last look inside.

* * *

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

_ "Please stop," I moan. I'm lying on the ground in a fetal position._

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

_ "Cassie, please," I say, a tear going down my cheek._

"NO, NO, NOOOOOOOO! ARRRRRRRGH! NOOOOO!"

POW!

* * *

An ambulance speeds through the streets.

Its sirens are blearing.

It drives into an empty park.

Another explosion.

This time bigger.

* * *

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

_ "Cassie, please stop doing this," I say, the tears falling faster. I cover my face to hide the fact that I'm crying this much._

_ "Hunter McCarthy."_

_ "I'm sorry," I say. "I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry."_

_ There's silence. I uncover my face and see that I am on the ceiling, staring down at myself as I lie in a hospital bed, wearing a spotted johnny gown. My hair is darker and a little shorter. My skin looks pale._

_ Sitting next to me, holding onto my left hand is an older man with dark hair and a goatee. Under his suit jacket, his button-down shirt is undone a little at the top._

_ "I think you're ready," whispers the voice of Cassidy Lerette, my best childhood friend. "Open your eyes…"_

* * *

"Hey," said the soft voice of David Rossi.

Although I was still a little hazy from the morphine, I couldn't help but come up with a snappy response. "Two agents shot in one year. We're doing great."

Rossi chuckled and squeezed my hand. "I'm glad you're okay."

"So am I," I said, cracking a smile. "How's Cooper?"

"He's fine. But, uh, Agent Joyner…she died."

"What happened?"

"Hotch's SUV exploded. She lost a lot of blood."

"Oh…but did we catch the unsub?"

Rossi gave me a sad smile. "It's a long story. I'll tell you in the car. I'm staying with you until you're ready to be discharged."

I tried to squeeze his hand back, even though I'm sure my attempt was pitiful. I nodded, understanding that I wasn't cleared to fly, and felt him rubbing my knuckles. Then he lifted our joined hands and did the unexpected. He placed a soft (but scratchy) kiss on the back of my hand. Butterflies were running rampant in my stomach.

"What about the other cases?" I asked.

"Right now, you're a little more important."

The door opened as I smiled. Morgan and Reid stepped in, and walked over to me. Maybe it was just the morphine, but I couldn't be bothered with the fact that Morgan was there and saw Rossi holding my hand.

"Hey there, Hunter," Morgan said.

"Hi," I said weakly. I smiled as Rossi continued to rub my knuckles.

"Doctor says you're gonna be okay," Reid muttered.

I nodded. "Where's the rest of the team?"

"Prentiss is with Cooper right now. Garcia is packing up at the station with JJ. Hotch is… I think he's saying goodbye to Kate," Morgan explained.

"Is Hotch going to be okay?" I asked.

Morgan shrugged and looked away.

"He seemed to be fond of Kate. And he has ear damage," Reid pointed out.

I nodded. _Poor Hotch._

* * *

Since you guys wanted to find out what happened next so bad...

Basically what I tried to do here was fuse some of the events of the actual episode with Hunter's morphine nightmares and help her get a little more closure.

Hope you liked it-I know it's short, but come on


	17. Minimal Loss

**_"You're clear to _**_fly."_

Best four words I've ever heard.

I didn't get to go to Ohio with the team for our last case, so I had to stay in Quantico with Garcia and "help her out". Although it was kinda hard because my right arm was in a sling the whole time.

So basically, there was this serial killer called the Angel Maker. He was caught and executed, and then a year after that (to the day) someone else was murdered by a copycat. One of the murderer's fans.

A _female_ fan.

I don't get how women find killers—killers who beat women to death, rape them, and cut constellations into their post-mortem stomachs—_sexy_. I don't get why they have fan clubs. I just don't _get it_.

But I digress…

Emily and Reid had been sent to La Plata County in Colorado as "child victim interview experts" because a fifteen year-old at this Christian cult had called in that a man had climb in bed and sleep with her.

"Morgan, Hunter," JJ said, storming towards us from where we sat at our desks.

"What's up?" Morgan asked.

Instead of answering, JJ just turned on the TV in the room. She put it on the news. There sat a Latino male outside of a compound.

"_What is reportedly being called 'a routine questions and answers meeting' by Colorado Child Services, has turned into a violent and deadly stand-off between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Separatarian Sect. The raid on—_"

"That's not the ranch where Emily and Reid—"

"They're still inside," JJ interrupted me, nodding.

Morgan turned around, "HOTCH!" I watched as the unit chief dropped his phone and came outside. Rossi heard him and came out as well. "The TV. Prentiss and Reid."

"_It is believed at least three of the Child Service members are still trapped within the compound. One policeman has died—_"

Phones started ringing in the office.

"Alright," Hotch said. "That means we're the lead with hostage, rescue, and support. Let's go."

* * *

"_It turned deadly when the Colorado State police officers tried to serve a warrant. Colorado Attorney General, Jim Wells, says the reclusive cult has been the subject of a six month weapons investigation._"

"Six months," Morgan said over the reporter from where he sat next to me. "We didn't check?"

"No, we checked. I had ATF call Wells. He told ATF there were no pending state investigations. He lied," JJ told us.

"Why?" Rossi asked.

"Wells is challenging the governor next election. He thought that ATF was about to poach his big election, launching weapons busts," she said, making me roll my eyes. "Now, it's clear he didn't know there were FBI agents there. He just thought the best time to serve a state warrant was when the kids were safe inside the school being interviewed.

"What do we know about the sect?" I asked.

The video disappeared and Garcia showed up instead. "_Liberty Ranch was founded in 1980 by Libertarian Leo Kane. He created it as a self-sustaining commune._"

"Libertarians believe that everyone has the right to do what they want as long as they aren't infringing on the rights of others," Morgan said.

"But Libertarians aren't religious. Clearly, this sect abandoned Libertarian principles," Rossi said.

"Benjamin Cyrus, the current leader, introduced religion eight years ago, when Kane left," Hotch said.

"Garcia, what do we got on Cyrus?" Morgan asked.

"_Oh, we've got _bupkis_. It's like the guy never cast a shadow on the universe… However, his predecessor, Leo Kane, is doing a seventeen year stretch at Deerfield Federal Prison. Apparently, Libertarians do not like paying taxes._"

"Seventeen years for tax evasion?" I raised a brow.

"_Oh no, that would be two years for tax evasion and fifteen for going after four IRS agents with a Louisville slugger_."

I nodded, trying not to smile at the image in my head.

"Let's have Kane go to the scene. He's our best chance at finding out some idea of who we're dealing with," Hotch suggested and Garcia disappeared, leaving the blue background with the BAU seal in the middle on the computer screen on the table.

* * *

We drove up through a dusty road up to a tent where the police were, right outside of the ranch. We got out of the car and went into the tent. I overheard Hotch and Rossi talking.

"Dave," Hotch said. "They've left the choice of negotiators up to me."

"I taught most of the hostage negotiation unit. You want a recommendation?" Rossi said. Again, he had his top button undone and I had to tear my eyes away.

_There's something wrong with me. So…so wrong…_

"I'm making _you_ the lead negotiator."

"…_Me_?"

"Why go to the students when I have the teacher?"

"Because the teacher is emotionally involved," Rossi pointed out. "So is the agent in command."

"I know I am. This is a unique situation. We have two agents who could affect the outcome on the _inside_," Hotch said.

"True, but I can't be _objective_—I know them too well."

"This outcome depends as much on our ability to predict the moves of Prentiss and Reid as _Cyrus_. That's why you're the best man for the job."

"Assuming that Reid and Prentiss are still in the condition to _make _moves."

"I _know_ how bad this is. That's why I want you doing the talking. Take McCarthy as well. She specialized in hostage negotiations."

"…Alright," David said finally.

"You're _obviously_ not in charge—I can _see_ that!"

We all turned around and saw a man in a suit being followed by a guy in a green jumpsuit.

"I'm sorry sir; I'm under direct orders from the FBI," the man in green said, in a low voice that didn't suit his small stature at all.

"I'm the Attorney General of this state. I demand to know why I wasn't told the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Separatarian ranch!" Suit-man said as Hotch walked over to him.

Rossi looked at me and jerked his head back, telling me to come over to him. I took a few steps and found myself staring into his eyes. He put his hand on my shoulder blade and led me over to Jim Wells.

"The only thing that _you're_ in a position to demand is a lawyer," Hotch told him.

Wells looked from Rossi, to me, to Hotch. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief. I'm the guy who's gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide," Hotch spoke firmly.

"You can't talk to me like that," Wells said, shaking his jowls. He was a big guy with a comb-over. He got right in Hotch's face and I was afraid that shit was going down.

"Get off my crime scene."

Wells looked at Rossi, then at Hotch and turned away. He glared at us as he got into the back of his car.

"Hey Dan," Hotch said, calmer now. He shook the man in green's hand. "This is SSA Hunter McCarthy." I smiled and shook the guy's hand as well. "You know Dave Rossi."

"Sure," Dan shook Rossi's hand too.

"We've been here before, haven't we?" Rossi asked.

"Waco, Ruby Ridge, Freemen Standoff," Dan's voice got a bit lighter and he scoffed. "Let's hope someone listens to you guys this time."

"Oh, they did more than listen. They put us in charge."

"So, bring us up to speed," Hotch requested.

"I've sent the state police packing. They started this mess…lost some men in the process. Hope that's okay," Dan looked at Hotch.

"If you hadn't, we would've," Hotch admitted.

"Good. County sheriffs have had no run-ins with the sect, so we're using them as support. We've had no contact with them so far. They've got power: solar. We can shoot out the panels if you think—"

"No, no," Rossi shook his head. "That's an escalation."

"Okay. But that means they have access to the news."

"I'll get JJ to talk to the press," Hotch said. "Your men ready to be briefed?" Dan nodded. "Let's go."

"We call this the Minimal Loss Scenario," Rossi said once we had relocated inside a trailer-type thing. "Every person we get out is a life saved. We _won't_ save them all. All of us have to be prepared to…accept that situation.

I walked across him, grabbing an Expo marker and getting ready to draw on the whiteboard, "Cults are structured like pyramids." I drew possibly the best triangle I've ever done. "You've got the leader at the top," I made the tip of the triangle about the length of an inch and a half and wrote 'Leader' next to it. "Diehard believers," I put the next line about an inch below that and almost wrote 'Bruce Willis' next to it, but opted for 'Diehards' instead. "Beneath, the biggest group—the base—the followers," I wrote that very word next to it and circled it. I tapped the white space. "Women and children. These are the people we can save."

"The Trickle-Flow-Gush strategy's designed to get base followers out," Hotch said. "First, one or two, then three or four, then as many as we can as fast as we can. And, if at any point it starts to go bad, we go in."

Rossi got up from the counter he was leaning on, "The leaders are…_charismatic_ sociopaths who target those most susceptible to their seduction. They have the ability to see what each person needs…and then they become that thing. We have to undermine the perception that we're an invading army laying siege to their home."

"We'll lose the fatigues. Ranchers clothes work for you?" Dan asked him. "Like we did at the Freemen Standoff."

"Perfect. Anything we can do to…_demilitarize_ the situation."

* * *

"Hello?" Rossi said into the phone. We had called the ranch later that evening. I stood with Morgan by Rossi, Dan, and Hotch.

"_You killed my mom and daddy. Are you going to kill me too?_" asked the voice of a young girl.

"No one is gonna kill you, honey," Rossi said sweetly.

"_This is Benjamin Cyrus,_" said a raspy voice. "_Who am I talking to?_"

"David Rossi. I'm an FBI agent. We sent the state police away. There's just us and the local sheriff. All we wanna do is resolve this before anyone else gets hurt."

"_Then leave us alone._"

"I'm afraid we can't do that, Benjamin. One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So, let's just _stop_ this before things get worse," Rossi said. He gave me a look, signifying that he wanted me to continue, so I got closer to the phone.

"This is Agent Hunter McCarthy. Please, just put down your guns and come out," I said.

"_We're believers, Dave and Ms. Hunter. We believe that God says what He means and means what He says. His laws don't depend on what state we live in._"

Rossi gave me a look to keep going.

"We have no issues with your beliefs," I told him.

"_You don't, but the state does._"

"We can't answer for other people," Rossi said.

"_Oh, God will answer for everyone in the final battle I foresee._"

"That's why we're here—to make sure that this is not that battle."

"_We shall see._"

"Now, the three Child Services workers…"

"_One of them is dead_."

My heart sank. I looked at Rossi and Hotch. They both looked worried.

"_It wasn't us._"

"I need a name…to inform the family."

"_Her name was Nancy Lunde._"

I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God it wasn't Reid or Emily.

"Okay," Rossi said. "Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded. I promise you, they'll be well taken care of."

"_With enough supplies, we can tend to our own._"

"Okay, I need a few hours to put it together. Hunter and I'll bring them up ourselves at first light," Rossi told him.

I was afraid Cyrus would protest to there being two of us. But he just hung up instead.

* * *

We walked back into the trailer-type-deal and met up with Hotch and Dan.

"He could take you two hostage," Dan said. He was sitting at a table with Morgan.

"We're gonna confirm the kids, Prentiss, Reid are okay," Rossi said.

"Rossi, at least let me go with you," Morgan implored.

"No," he took his gun and put it down. "This is about building trust. He's already talked to Hunter and me. We go alone."

I mimicked him and put my gun down on the table. I walked over to one of the boxes of supplies with him as Dan and one of his officers talked about replacing windows or something.

The next morning, Rossi and I got into a truck. He drove, obviously, and I stared out the window, not sure of what to say. We drove past various cars, parking next to the little black state one that Reid and Prentiss had driven in with Nancy.

The ranch was a fairly nice looking place with an American flag blowing in the wind. When we got out of the car, we both examined the place and then grabbed a box each. We carried them up to a door under a cross that looked like it had been made out of enormous popsicle sticks. The closer we got to the door, the more we noticed the blood sprayed on the beige walls. On the ground was a battering ram.

Rossi held his box in one hand and knocked on the wooden door. It opened, revealing a man wearing a plaid shirt. Behind him stood a man in a white button-up holding a rifle in his arms.

"Dave? Ms. Hunter?" the man said. His voice sounded familiar. Rossi nodded, so the man opened it wider. "I'm Ben. C'mon in."

We crossed the threshold and Rossi handed his box to another armed man, while I handed mine to the man in white. Ben stepped outside as Rossi and I were patted down. I could see the people of the compound staring at us, the men holding guns. There was a loud clang and I assumed Cyrus had thrown the ram off the front steps. He came in as soon as we were done being patted down. He gestured for us to walk down the aisle with him.

"The children," he said, looking at one side of the chapel. "And…our guests." On the other side, closest to the wall, sat Emily and Reid. They were staring at us. So was Cyrus.

"I'd hoped you'd let us take the children," Rossi said.

"No, they're our protection," Cyrus whispered. "I remember Waco. We all do."

The two men stopped and I almost bumped into Rossi.

"This isn't Waco," he said.

"They stay for now," Cyrus told him. He leaned down and took a Bible from the hands of a young girl, quite possibly the girl who had asked if we were going to kill her too, who was sitting on the lap of a girl no older than fifteen. "While I…pray for God's guidance, please don't try to force us out."

"No one's gonna try to force you out of here," I shook my head. "Trust me."

"Trust is earned, Ms. Hunter."

I nodded and couldn't help but feel guilty about the bugs in the supplies. "It is." And we turned around, walking back toward the door.

"Tell them I'm not crazy," Cyrus requested. "Tell them I'm just a man living by God's law."

"I will," Rossi said, holding out his hand. Benjamin looked at it and then shook it. I held out my hand as well and he shook mine too before opening up the door for us.

* * *

"Reid and Prentiss are okay," I said as we got back into the trailer.

"What about Cyrus?" Morgan asked.

"He's too calm. It's like he was waiting for this to happen. And now that it has, he feels vindicated," Rossi said, taking his gun back and handing me mine.

"I got a signal. I'm getting a signal here," said one of the officers. We leaned down and got a set of headphones to listen.

"_We will be with Him soon,_" Cyrus said. "_We have drank the poison together._"

We all exchanged concerned glances, wondering if Reid or Morgan had drunk it too. I refused to listen any further.

"This doesn't fit," I said. "We looked him in the eye—he was _calm, _lucid."

"They're committing mass-suicide," Hotch tried to interrupt me.

"We don't know that for sure," I said.

"McCarthy, he just _said _it!" Morgan pointed out.

"We're ready to go," Dan said.

"If we go in there, people are gonna die!" I raised my voice.

"People are already dying," Hotch said. "McCarthy, take a walk."

I furrowed my brow and then backed up for a few steps, turning around and leaving the trailer. I leaned my arm on the wall and pressed my forehead to it. Hotch had never said that to me. Usually it was to Morgan or something.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes until I heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind me. I turned and saw JJ.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," I nodded. "I'm just stressed out, I guess."

"Okay. Well, I was just gonna go in there to tell everyone that Kane is here," she said, walking up the steps. "Feel better."

"Thanks, JJ," I weakly smiled after her and started to walk off. Where? I dunno. Fortunately, Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi came down with JJ soon after.

"McCarthy," Hotch called out, making me turn. "Good call."

"So…they weren't being poisoned?" I asked.

"No. Cyrus was bluffing," he said.

_Told you so._

* * *

Morgan reported back to us that Kane had kicked Cyrus out when he was seventeen because he was messing around with little girls. Then Cyrus came back years later and overtook the ranch, saying he had found God. We had been corresponding with Garcia about Cyrus, who had apparently been accused of statutory rape in Kentucky a couple times.

"So, we need to talk to the warden," Morgan said from where we sat outside.

"_Waaay ahead of you, honey. Mr. Kentucky Warden said that once inside, _[whatever Cyrus' **real** last name was]_ found religion, became a model citizen,_" Garcia told us.

"Well, it's not that hard to behave when you're in protective custody the whole time," Morgan commented.

"General population's a rough place for a child molester," I nodded.

"_No-no. I don't think you guys understand. He was a _model citizen_. This guy volunteered at the prison hospital, the AIDS ward. He was reading to prisoners dying of HIV._"

"Good stuff," Morgan told her.

"_Damn straight. Now get our friends back, baby._"

There was a beep and Garcia went bye-bye.

"Well, this makes things worse," Rossi said.

"What? That he was a model citizen?" Morgan asked.

"That he's been to prison."

"He knows what happens to child molesters there," Morgan nodded.

"If the current sexual allegations are true, and he thinks we know it…he's not coming out of there," Hotch pointed out.

"Then we have to make him think that he's not going back," I said.

"JJ, I need you to release a press statement saying that we have absolutely _no_ evidence of sexual allegations," he said as the blonde came over, looking incredibly annoyed.

She sighed, "You need to see this."

On the computer, she showed us a clip from the news coverage of the standoff.

"_Now well into its second day, the standoff at the Separatarian sect ranch has now been taken over by the FBI. There is much speculation in regards to hostages. But anonymous sources inside the State Attorney General's Office _have_ told us that there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Separatarian sect ranch. Hostage negotiators say they are making headway with the sect's leadership and are hopeful for a positive outcome. There is still no word as to why an undercover FBI agent was sent in alone._"

"You have got to be kidding me," I shook my head.

"I'm getting something!" one of the officers said. We all put on our headphones and listened.

Immediately, we heard the sound of someone grunting and groaning—someone who sounded a hell of a lot like Emily.

"_I told you not to put me in this position!_"

SMACK!

I covered my mouth, listening to the noises she was making. Cyrus must have been watching the news too and took it out on her.

"We've gotta go in," Hotch said after Emily grunted again, only louder.

"We'd be risking the lives of everyone in there," Rossi said.

"_Get up_," Cyrus growled. He hit her again and must have smashed her into a mirror based on the sound of glass breaking. He started citing scripture and I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

He threw her into a wall by the sounds of it and Emily cried out in pain. A second later, she spoke.

"_I can take it_."

"_Oh, you can take it?_"

SMACK!

"Wait-wait. Listen, listen to what she's saying," Rossi said.

From the looks of it, Hotch couldn't take it anymore. It was sweet how much he cared about us.

"_I can take it_," Emily repeated.

"She's antagonizing him," Morgan said almost angrily.

"She's not talking to him," Rossi said.

"She's talking to us," I concluded.

"She's telling us not to come in," Hotch continued.

Cyrus said something else and Emily continued to make those dreadful noises. I couldn't take it anymore, so I took off my headphones.

"I can't. I'm sorry," I walked off to my sleeping quarters and let my tears fall.

* * *

"Hunter."

I turned over on my cot and looked up to see Morgan standing by me. I had fallen asleep after crying so much and started to wipe away at the crust on my cheeks. "I'm sorry. It's just…Emily's my best friend on the team and—"

"Shh," Morgan crouched in front of me and stroked my hair. "We made a deal with Cyrus. He said he'd release a child if we told him Emily's name. He wants you to come pick the child up."

"Okay," I got off the cot and followed Morgan to the sheriff's truck. He drove me into the compound and I got out of the front seat, my bulletproof vest strapped on. There on the dirt road was the little blonde girl from the chapel. She was wearing a cute little pink dress with white shoes and socks. "Hey, it's okay," I said softly, walking over to her. "It's okay. Come to me, sweetie." I crouched and she hurried right into my arms. I picked her up by the waist and set her on my hip. She clung to me like a koala. "You're safe now." I held up my wrist and said, "We've got her, Hotch," into my comm. device. I carried her over to the truck and got in the.

The sheriff drove back to our tent. The little girl kept holding onto me. She looked at me with her big green eyes, but didn't smile.

"You're okay," I said, rubbing her back. "You're okay."

* * *

Reid had discovered Cyrus' plan. Those who had failed his poison loyalty test were sent packing. It was time for the true test of faith.

"Bargaining with food's not an option because of the children," Hotch said as we assembled in the trailer. Cyrus had asked for fried chicken, so some of the officers were helping to prepare it. "We have to go in.

"Best time to hit is when they're least mentally prepared," I said, sitting next to Rossi.

"Three AM. Biorhythms are at their low point then," Dan said.

"We need a diversion. Something that plays into his expectations," Morgan pointed out.

"Cyrus brought up Waco."

"Right," Rossi nodded.

"I know exactly how to use that. We need some Humvees," Dan said, walking off

"The plan depends on Reid and Prentiss separating the diehards from the followers," Hotch drew a horizontal line through my pyramid.

"And delaying Cyrus' diehards from reacting to our assault," Morgan added.

"Well, that's not my main concern. Reid and Prentiss know what they need to do."

"So what is your concern?"

"Letting them know when we're coming," Hotch turned back to us. "The whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at three AM."

"C'mon guys, quick. We need to get those bugs in the box before it gets too cold," Dan said to his men.

Hotch grabbed a reflective chicken label and held it up to us, "Perfect." He put it on the desk and started writing on it. Morgan went over to see what he was doing and patted him on the back.

"Let's hope it's just that easy," he said.

* * *

As three AM neared, we suited up in our bulletproof vests. I was thankful that I had gotten some sleep; otherwise I would've been dead on my feet.

At quarter of, we started driving in the Humvees. And soon, we heard the sound of gunfire. Rossi, Morgan, and I followed the cops inside the back entrance to the building shortly after they came in and shot at a Diehard. A bruised and bloody Emily came in with an older woman and the children right behind.

"Emily, Emily! You alright?" I asked.

"They've wired explosives," she said, limping over to us.

The woman ushered all of the kids past, telling them to move along, that the building was going to explode.

"Where's Reid?" Morgan asked Emily.

"He's in the chapel with Cyrus," she told us.

"We've gotta get you out of here," Rossi said.

"No, we've gotta get _Reid!_"

"Prentiss, I will get Reid. Get out of here. Get to safety. Go now," Morgan told her, gently pushing her.

"C'mon," I looped my arm with hers, but before we could go anywhere, we heard the fifteen year-old girl struggling with her mother.

"I can't, he's my HUSBAND!" the girl shouted, running up the stairs.

"Hey!" Morgan shouted. "Hey!" The mother started screaming after her and Morgan cut her off. Emily unlooped her arm with mine and we followed him. "Hey, hey, ma'am!" Emily held onto the woman from behind. "Hey! I will get her for you!" Morgan pushed her back towards Rossi, who grabbed her arm. "Rossi, get her out of here!"

We led the woman outside and followed after the officers and the children. And minutes later…

KABOOM!

One of the officers kept telling everyone to move along as we walked through the smoke. Finally, we found the squad cars and Emily stood in front of the building.

"Reid? Morgan?" she shouted.

I looked over my shoulder and saw the two coming out of the building, coughing.

"We're okay!" Morgan called out.

We were all relieved. Emily stepped forward and Rossi stepped back, putting his hand on my shoulder blade.

"I think all the kids are out," Hotch said, standing by us.

"Where's Jessie?" Rossi turned and asked the woman from before, referring to the young fifteen year-old.

The woman looked around, as though trying to find her daughter. When she didn't see her, the started crying.

Rossi patted my back and led me away, knowing that Jessie had been inside…

* * *

Long overdue thanks to all the people who favorite, follow, and review! You guys are the best!


	18. Paradise

**"Hey, if you** guys are hungry, I know a pretty good Indian restaurant that's open all night," Reid said, walking over to his desk.

"Oh, I can't. I have a date," Emily said.

"Really?" I grinned at her.

"You've got a _date?_" Morgan asked, incredulously looking at his watch.

She nodded.

"With who?" Morgan stood up.

"My hot tub."

"Oh, now that sounds like a party," Morgan smirked as Emily got up herself.

"You're _so_ not invited," Emily's voice shook with laughter.

Morgan scrunched his face up and lightly smacked himself on the cheek. I snorted quietly.

"Hold up, guys," a very pregnant JJ said, walking down the stairs.

"Change of plans," I sighed, standing up.

"I'm glad I caught you," she said.

"Is everything okay?" Emily asked.

"I've been on the phone with the sheriff in Nevada. There's been a series of suspicious accidents in the Reno area that might be connected."

Morgan sat down on a desk. "JJ, this can't wait 'til morning?"

"I don't think so… If I'm right about this, I think we'll be leaving first thing tomorrow. Sorry," JJ frowned and led us up to the bullpen, Morgan as the caboose. "Three nights ago, outside of Reno, this car was hit by a tractor trailer," she told us, showing a picture of a small, beat-up car.

"Any survivors?" Morgan asked.

"The truck driver walked away unharmed. Jonathon and Rebecca Gallen, the passengers in the car, were DOA. When the local sheriff arrived on the scene, he noticed several things. No blood spatter inside the car. No seatbelt burns. No lacerations from the airbags," JJ said, showing us various pictures.

"They were dead before the accident," Reid said.

"The autopsy confirmed that and the cause of death—blunt force head trauma and evidence of rape and torture to the woman."

"Well, the unsub wasn't very successful at hiding the fact that he murdered two people," Hotch said.

"Well, there's a chance that he has gotten away with it before," JJ said. "After I spoke to the sheriff, I had Garcia look into any similar accidents near the California-Nevada border." She turned and clicked her remote, showing us more pictures. "She found two with a similar MO in the past couple of weeks. Both were couples in a car hit by a tractor trailer."

"It's always a man and a woman stopped right in the middle of the road," Morgan said.

"It's always at night on a remote highway," I said, looking through my file.

"It can't be a coincidence. The victim type and this very specific MO are the same in all three cases," Rossi pointed out.

"Was Garcia able to find any connection between them?" Hotch asked.

"One thing they have in common is that they all disappeared for forty-eight hours prior to the accidents," JJ told him.

"And we know what he does to his victims during that time," Rossi said.

"We just need to figure out where he finds them," Hotch finished.

* * *

As we sat in the plane, I noticed JJ putting an old fashioned set of headphones (circa late-nineties/early two-thousands) over her round stomach. She was sitting around the table with Reid, Hotch, and Emily. Morgan, Rossi, and I were sitting nearby.

"JJ," Emily said, getting her attention and gesturing to the headphones.

"So the baby can't hear," our liaison explained.

Emily nodded. "What's he listening to?"

"Uh, Beethoven."

I smiled and drew my knees up. I was sitting on the bench-thingy with Rossi, while Morgan as leaning against a counter.

"Hmm. I personally preferred Mozart myself. But be careful to limit his exposure to one hour a day. Amniotic fluids have a tendency to amplify sound," Reid said.

"Thanks for the reminder, Doc," JJ said, grinning at me. We both had seen everyone's exchanged looks of confusion and _what-the-hell?_ "Okay, so, all three crashes were on highways outside Carson City, Lake Tahoe, and Reno."

"All cities with a large and diverse transient population," Emily said. "Not to mention, the thousands of locals mixing with seasonal workers."

"An endless pool of victims to choose from," Rossi added.

"Rebecca Gallen was beaten badly," Hotch pointed out. "Ribs broken ante mortem. He'd need time and privacy to do this."

"I'd suggest the killer either lives or works in the area," I shrugged.

"He's going to such extremes to try and hide the murders," Morgan said. "Maybe he has a connection to the victims."

"What does the press know?" Rossi asked.

"All media outlets are reporting an accident," JJ said.

"One thing going for us: killer has no idea we know," Emily said.

"That helps us," Hotch said. "JJ, when we land, will you explain to Sheriff Bruner and his deputies how important it is to keep this quiet?"

The blonde nodded, "Got it."

"If the unsub finds out we're here…all bets are off. He could change his MO or…just pick up and find his victims somewhere else."

* * *

A loud honking noise blared as a tractor trailer drove by. I was standing on the side of the road at the latest crash site with Morgan, Rossi, Bruner, a random cop who stood a few feet behind, and Bobby Jones, the man who drove the truck that hit the Gallen's car. He must have been in his late fifties/early sixties. His gray hair was shoulder-length and he had a wild goatee.

My hair whipped around my face and I had to tilt my hair a certain way to keep it back. The driver beside me took his hat off and put it back on.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to go home now and tell my wife…that I didn't kill that couple," he said in a thickly accented, shaky, almost guilt-ridden voice.

"Sir, we're gonna have to ask you not to do that," Morgan told him.

"But everyone believes _I_ killed 'em. You don't know what that _feels_ like."

I turned to him and said, "We understand what we're asking of you, but this is an extremely vital part of our investigation."

"We need the public to continue to believe this was an accident," Rossi said, calling my attention to the undone top button of his light blue shirt under his brown suit jacket. Even though he was wearing sunglasses, I know Morgan caught me looking, so I focused my eyes on my Converse for the time being.

"Mr. Jones, we _will_ catch this guy," Bruner spoke up. "And when we do, your good name will be vindicated, I promise you that."

In the moment's silence, we could hear police feedback, but then Bobby took a step back and took his hands out from his jeans pockets.

"Well, okay. If I can think of anything that'll be of use to ya, I'll letcha know," he said to Bruner.

Bruner nodded, "Thanks for your time, sir." And with that, Bobby walked off with the random cop. "This guy could've left the bodies anywhere. On the side of the road, buried in the ground…"

"But he didn't. And there's a reason for that," Morgan said.

"Yeah, he's taunting us."

"No, he's not," Rossi pointed out. "This behavior tells us the risk of leaving the bodies where he killed them is greater than the risk he takes in staging the accidents." Another cop came over and handed Rossi a file. "Thank you." He looked through them, "Satellite photos." He stepped forward and opened the file on top of a car's hood. He spread the three pictures out.

I stepped next to him, the smell of his cologne nearly fogging my brain, and looked at the bird's eye view pictures of the crash sites.

"Look at that—all three accident sites have similar blind curves," Morgan said, prodding each of the photos.

"The gray to the hill—about the same. Every location," Bruner said.

"What are these areas just off the highway?" I asked, gesturing to strange lines on the pictures.

"Some are fire roads. Some are trails for off-road vehicles, ATVs and such."

"We know this guy's organized," Rossi turned around and I followed suit. "Looks like he plans his escapes in advance."

* * *

Hotch had interviewed Rebecca's father and discovered that her husband used to bring her donuts from a diner called Flo's when he went camping or hiking. Hotch sent Emily and Morgan down there to ask around about the Gallens.

The next morning, JJ called us in with news of two new possible missings who spent their vacation in Reno and were on their way back home.

"Ian and Abby Corbin have already been missing for over twenty-four hours, which means we may only have until tonight to find them," Hotch told us at the police station. "According to their families, they left Reno yesterday and were planning on stopping somewhere for the night."

"They didn't use a credit card. Unless they traveled with a lot of cash, the room wasn't too expensive," Rossi said.

"They were _not_ traveling on the interstate. That eliminates half of our prior search," Emily told the police officers as we briefed them.

"Sounds like we're looking for somebody who works a nightshift at a back road motel," Bruner concluded.

"And we think he's most likely in his early-to-mid-thirties," I added.

"Why is that?" Bruner asked.

"Uh, abducting couples is an ambitious task and this guy's had time to perfect this skill," Reid took over for me.

"He could be older."

"Don't get hung up on his age," Rossi interjected. "It's the hardest thing to predict."

"What we _do_ know is females take extensive beatings from him," Morgan said, holding up two post-mortem pictures of Rebecca Gallen. "Now, that combined with the sexual assault tells us that he's a violent, anger excitation rapist. A sexual sadist like this can't get off unless he's torturing _and_ watching the effects on his victims."

"Part of the torture is psychological," Rossi continued. "That's another reason he takes couples. Chances are he forces one to watch his power over the other."

"Because only the women suffer sexual torture, he's most likely a malignant misogynist. This typically stems from extreme hatred towards a woman who was relentless in her psychological _and_ physical abuse," Emily explained.

"How do you know the dad wasn't the abusive one and he's just continuing the cycle?" Bruner asked.

"Only a woman could make him hate women this much," I replied.

"The idea of the Terrible Mother is best illustrated in world mythology by the negative aspects of the Great Mother. Instead of nurturing her children, she destroyed 'em," Reid said.

"And given this upbringing, it's highly unlikely he's ever been in a relationship, let alone been married," Hotch pointed out.

"And since he works in the service industry, he's forced to deal with a lot of people. So he can probably hide his aversion to women until he gets them behind closed doors," Morgan added.

"With that said, we shouldn't rule out _any_one with prior offenses toward women," Rossi commented.

"Given the amount of time he spends with his victims, he requires a great deal of privacy," Hotch said. "He may even utilize an ATV to get away from the accident sites. So, the property may back up onto an off-road trail. We should, therefore, concentrate on the most remote hotels first. Thank you."

* * *

Hotch sent us to motels to question the managers. I went with Morgan, so as not to seem suspicious by going with Rossi. I think everyone noticed that he and I spent a lot of time together doing this sort of stuff.

"Hey, I just realized," Morgan said, stopping at a red light, "we never really got to have a talk about you getting shot."

"Morgan, I'm fine," I sighed. "That was a while ago." I ignored the soreness in my shoulder.

"You don't feel traumatized by it?" he asked, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Derek…a kid working for a terrorist sect shot me and another detective. It wasn't a personal thing. And I'm glad it wasn't," I licked my lips as the light turned green. "I don't want to turn out like Elle."

Elle Greenaway was on our team before Emily. Like I said before, she went crazy when the Fisher King shot her and wrote a message on a wall using her blood. Weeks afterward, she reached her breaking point when we were working a serial rapist. She was supposed to go undercover, _completely_ ruined the whole thing, he got released on a technicality, and then wound up dead by her gun. She claimed it was self-defense, but we all knew that she killed him in cold blood. Not long after, she quit and we hadn't heard from her since.

"You won't turn out like Elle," Morgan said softly. "I won't let you."

"Thanks," I muttered, staring out the window.

We pulled up to a motel and found the manager. He was kind of strange-looking; he had thinning gray hair and a drooping, bulldog-ish face. We showed him a picture of Abby and a picture of Ian.

"Haven't seen 'em," he said, handing me back the photos.

We were standing in a sort of garden. A few maintenance people were working around us; some venturing curious looks at us.

"How many employees you got working here?" Morgan asked.

"I've…got eleven people on payroll," the manager said.

"You got a night manager?"

"We rotate the shift. Got a nice set-up in the back office. All the movie channels," the proprietor gave us a creepy smile.

"Your employees—they all have access to each room?" I asked. The manager's face fell as soon as I started talking.

"We all have, uh, master keys, yeah."

"I need to see a list of all of those names," Morgan told him.

He sighed, "Okay," and turned around into the office.

* * *

Emily and Garcia worked together a connection between the victims. The women were all found panty-less.

"So, this guy sees these collisions as some kinda _rape_," Bruner said as we all gathered around the table.

"We know that an underwear fetish typically begins in adolescence with peeping in neighbor's windows," Reid pointed out.

"And when that no longer satisfies them, they'll burglarize homes and start taking the object that arouses them," Morgan said.

My Going-To-Hell radar was going off. All I could think of was "the panty raid" from _SpongeBob SquarePants._

"If they get away with that long enough, they become more confident. _Then_ the object becomes the woman wearing it," Rossi added. "That's when a rape can occur."

"The one constant is they always take the underwear as a souvenir," I added, trying to get Patrick Star's voice out of my head.

"Well, is it possible a pervert like this has ever been arrested?" Bruner asked.

"There's a good chance that a serial sex offender with an underwear fetish has been caught before," Hotch answered.

"_Right again, Agent Hotchner,_" Garcia said from the phone on the table.

"What is it, Garcia?"

"_For the last two days, I've been searching through ViCAP for similar rapes and murders in cases that are still open. That has yielded me diddly-squat. So…I regrouped. I looked at some pictures of baby pandas. I went back in and I started searching for similar rapes and murders in cases that have been solved. 'Kay?_"

"What did you find?" Emily asked.

"_Five months ago, this guy named Clint Barnes is convicted of five rapes that happened thirty miles away in Selbyville. Now, what's interesting—and by 'interesting', I also mean icky and sad and wrong—is that Mr. Barnes only stole the undergarment of his _last_ victim, and she was beaten in _exactly_ the same manner as our current victims. And she was the only one who died._"

"The first four showed no signs of torture?" JJ asked.

"_According to statements made by the survivors, he asked them questions about his performance. Things like…'Did you enjoy it?'_"

"Sounds like a Power-Reassurance rapist. It doesn't fit his last crime at all," I furrowed my brow.

"The last victim wasn't his," Hotch said. He looked up at me as I nodded. "It was our unsub's."

* * *

"Files were rushed over from the DA's office," Bruner said, walking over to us with a large cardboard box.

"How many suspects did they have in the Selbyville case?" Morgan asked as Bruner opened up the box and handed stuff out.

Reid said something, but, as he tends to do, he spoke way too fast and I couldn't really understand.

"JJ, cross-reference these names of Selbyville suspects. See if you get a match with people we still need to talk to in Sherwood," Hotch ordered.

"Got it," she said.

"You can use my office," Bruner offered.

"Alright, almost _all_ these guys had criminal records," Emily said, looking through a file.

"Offenses range from spousal abuse, sex crimes, molestation, and attempted rape," Morgan said.

"Our unsub's using brutal, physical force and extreme violence. Look for someone whose angry and hostile towards his victims," Reid said, handing out something to the local cops.

"Look for an intellectual component," Rossi said. "This guy used the MO of another rapist to make sure the wrong person went to jail for his crimes."

"Selbyville police talked to our unsub," Hotch looked up from his files. "He looked good for these crimes. He's in here somewhere." He looked in the files for a few minutes, hoping to find the unsub ASAP. "Alright, Garcia, let's try again."

"_Go for it_," she replied.

"Uh…name's Floyd Hansen. Lived and worked in Sherwood his whole life. Went to jail at twenty-five for breaking and entering."

"_Our friend got caught red-handed with some bloomers, charged with attempted rape; jerk served time, got out a year ago_."

"His last-known address is at the Crest Cottages," Hotch said. "JJ, uh, the list of hotels and motels we went to—I interviewed the manager there. His name's Dryden, right?"

"Uh…employee records say Wayne Dryden was fired Crest Cottages six months ago. The only employee now is the owner," JJ looked up from her papers. "…Floyd Hansen."

There was a pause as we all took in the reality of the situation.

"Let's go. I know where we're going. JJ, tell Garcia we'll call her from the car," Hotch said, leading us out of the police station.

* * *

It was dark when we reached the Crest Cottages. The place seemed nice—made out of logs with all the privacy the woods can offer you. It looked homey and inviting.

_Looked._

"There're ten cabins on ten acres," Hotch said, stepping out into the flashing lights of the SUVs. "There're maps outside the office. He's got a lot of privacy. There's a garage, sheds, stables—"

"Why not keep them in one of the cabins?" Emily asked.

"We're gonna have to check everything," Hotch told her.

"I'm gonna look in here," Rossi nodded for me to follow him.

"Okay," Hotch said as I pulled out my gun and went after the older man. "Morgan, Prentiss, this way."

We went into the front office and started looking through the cabinets with Reid and Sheriff Bruner. I pulled out a small stack of newspaper clippings.

"He's been following the investigation," I said.

"He's been at this longer than we thought," Rossi turned around, holding a plastic bag filled with underwear.

Moments later, we heard the unmistakable sound of a tractor trailer horn blaring through the night.

Fortunately, Hotch, Morgan, and Emily had caught Hansen before he could rape Abby Corbin. She had been beaten up some, but her husband, Ian, had to be carted off into an ambulance.

_Un_fortunately, Floyd had run into the road before we could arrest him and got hit by the very same truck that we heard.

"Well, roadside motels definitely go on my list," Emily said, turning away from the ambulance to face Rossi, Reid, and I. We were leaning on one of the SUVs. "Of things to never do again," she clarified.

"You have a list?" Reid furrowed his brow.

"You _don't?_" Rossi asked.

"It's gonna take awhile to get this mess cleaned up," Morgan said, walking over to us.

"I think it's gonna take a hell of a lot longer for that couple to recover," I raised my eyebrows.

* * *

One more chapter after this! Aaaah!


	19. Sardines

**Yes, Rossi, inviting** your team to go out to your cabin after that sketchy roadside motel case for a bonding experience was a _brilliant_ idea.

NOT.

"I'm scared as _shit_," JJ said, touching her pregnant belly. "You didn't hear that, baby."

I playfully rolled my eyes. JJ was scared of the woods. Why? Even _she _has no idea. But she _did_ get Reid, Morgan, and I pretty well once with her story about working at a summer camp and finding the dead body of the camp director…

"What's the point of this game?" she asked me.

"Sardines?" I asked. "It's like the opposite of Hide and Seek. Someone hides and you have to find them and hide with them."

"Oh…sounds like fun," JJ nodded.

"It is," I promised.

"Alright, I'm gonna go check up here," JJ told me, pointing her flashlight up the road. "Pray I don't go into labor."

"Haha, will do," I smirked, continuing to go straight into the dark mass of trees. I pulled my own flashlight out of the huge pocket.

I had underestimated what the temperature was going to be like in the Virginia woods and didn't pack a sweatshirt or anything really warm. Before we had started our game—you know, during the daytime—I was fine in my track shorts and short-sleeved shirt. But then the sky got darker and the air colder. I felt stupid, just shivering there. Finally, Rossi took pity on me, went inside, and got me an old windbreaker that was a million sizes too big.

But it smelled like him, so it was okay.

_Okay, Reid, where could you be? _I thought. I tried to use my profiling skills and figured, hey, he's pretty limber. He might be up in a tree or something. So I shined my flashlight upwards. And as luck would have it…

"'Sup, Reid?" I smirked. He was clinging to one branch like a koala. He didn't seem too comfortable and I hoped that he'd be able to get out of the damn tree once everyone found him.

"Technically me," he remarked, making me chuckle.

"I'd rather not scrape my legs up, so I think I'm just gonna…park it under here," I nodded, turning off my flashlight and leaning against the trunk.

"H-How long do you think it'll take for everyone to find me?" Reid's disembodied voice asked.

"Well, it _is_ a big property," I shrugged.

"How did _you_ find me?"

"Instinct," I said. "I'm surprised Morgan didn't find you first."

"Me too."

We were silent for awhile. This was starting to get boring. No one was even walking by the woods.

"Hey, Reid…" I started, looking up above. I could faintly see the outline of the guy.

"What?" he asked.

"Will you help me obnoxiously attract attention?"

Soon enough, we found ourselves loudly talking to each other about the weather and other trivial things. I kept trying to say Reid's name as much as possible. Finally, we heard footsteps and quieted down.

"You know, the point of the game is for people to _hide_."

"Hey, Emily," Reid and I said at the same time.

"No one was remotely close and it was getting tiresome," he explained.

"Rossi didn't say anything about boundaries, did he?" I asked as Emily leaned against the tree opposite us. "I don't really remember."

"He said we can go anywhere on his property except inside the house," she explained. "And of course you don't remember. You were too busy checking him out."

My jaw dropped. What had Morgan told her?!

"That's right, Hunter," Emily's smirk was apparent through her tone. "I know you've got the hots for Rossi."

"_What?_"

"I know it too," Reid said. _That_ surprised me. Reid was one of the most oblivious people I knew.

"Can you guys keep it hush-hush?" I begged, feeling the warmth on my cheeks spread.

"_We_ can," Emily said. "But I wouldn't trust Morgan."

"He told me," Reid admitted.

_Motherfucker…_

"Who else knows?" I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know the answer.

"I think JJ might," Emily told me. "I figured it out on my own, but Morgan confirmed it. JJ wasn't there when he said it."

"When did he say it?"

"After you got shot," Reid said. "When Morgan and I left your room, we met up with Emily. I had pointed out that Rossi was holding your hand and Morgan mentioned that you had some feelings towards, uh, Dave."

"Alright, Morgan's not going to be having kids anytime soon," I seethed.

"Don't blame it all on him," Emily said. "It's pretty obvious. Even Reid had somewhat of an idea."

I groaned. "Is it true that I undress him with my eyes?"

"Ohhhhh yes," Emily laughed.

"Damn…"

"Gideon too," Reid pointed out.

"I DIDN'T LIKE GIDEON THAT WAY!"

* * *

Once Morgan showed up, I kicked him _really_ hard in the nads, regardless of what Emily said.

"What the hell was that for?" he was curled up in a fetal position on the ground. His voice sounded strained and I was pleased with myself.

"You _told_ them!"

"Told who what?"

"Reid and Emily about…y'know!"

"About Rossi?"

"YES, dickhead!"

"They all knew!"

"But you assumed they didn't and told them anyway!" I tried to remember what he said when he promised me he wouldn't say anything so I could throw it back in his face. But then I remembered that he didn't promise me _anything_. I fumed and leaned back against the tree.

"I know never to get you angry, Hunter," Reid said in a small voice.

"I'm sorry," I said, guilt setting in. I crouched down next to Morgan.

"No, don't be," he sighed and sat up. "Damn, you've got quite a kick. I should start calling you Hot Wings."

"I'm sure Garcia would really appreciate that," I smirked, putting my hand on his back to help him get up.

"What wouldn't I appreciate?" said the voice of our eccentric tech analyst. A beam of light fell onto my face.

"Morgan's contemplating giving me the nickname of Hot Wings," I grinned.

"…Why would he call you that?"

"'Cause she's got 'quite a kick'," Emily rolled her eyes. (Garcia had shined the light on her face…so that's how I knew she did that.)

"Why would you kick my sweet Derek Morgan?" Garcia stomped over towards us from the edge of the woods. Only Penelope Garcia would be in the woods wearing a skirt and cork wedges, displaying her cleavage in a low-cut top and jacket. I don't think I've ever seen her in pants or sneakers. Well, not including pajama pants…

"Because he's a jerk," I muttered. But she wasn't listening. She just shined her flashlight up into the tree and Reid waved back at her.

* * *

JJ showed up soon, followed by Hotch, and then Rossi. Since he found Reid last, Rossi had to hide. The rest of us huddled under the tree that Reid had climbed out of (finally). We waited for a couple minutes and then set off.

As I walked down the dirt road, I thought to myself for a few moments. It was weird to see Rossi and Hotch, the two oldest members of our team, playing a game like this. I mean, yeah, Rossi was kind of immature, but Hotch was Mr. Serious.

It was _weird_…but nice.

I thought of how Hotch's young son Jack was sleeping peacefully inside the cabin. He had recently celebrated his third birthday. He was the cutest little thing. I figured him being around was what got Hotch out of a suit (into a T-shirt and jeans!) and playing around with us. We had all enjoyed a game of Catch with Jack's little foam football. Morgan, who used to be a star quarterback or something, taught Jack how to play. JJ taught him how to make troll houses in tree roots.

"Boo."

Clamping a hand over my mouth so I wouldn't scream, I jumped up in the air.

"You scared the hell out of me!" I said in a hushed voice.

"Come over here," Rossi muttered. I couldn't see him, but I followed his voice to behind a boulder. There he sat in a little dip on the giant rock.

"You're not supposed to tell me where you are," I reprimanded him.

"I know, but I wanted to get a little alone time with you," Rossi said. "We need to talk."

The bottom of my stomach fell out. I got nervous as he grabbed my hand and led me to sit next to him.

"So, I'm gonna talk and you're not gonna interrupt me, okay?"

"Alright."

"I had found Reid right at the beginning of the game. But I made sure that I showed up last so I could get the chance to talk with you alone," Rossi still held onto my hand. "You know that we have rules against fraternization."

I nodded my head, worrying that he was going to reveal that he knew about my feelings and was going to let me down nicely. I mean, why would a handsome, older man like him want to be with me?

"I don't really care about those rules," he said, making me snicker. "But I _do_ care about you. I think you're a beautiful woman and you deserve a man who knows how to treat you right. I may be a thousand years old, but I heard through the grapevine you like older men."

"I hate Morgan," I muttered. I felt like my insides were melting because of what he was saying.

"Shh," Rossi squeezed my hand. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that…for you, I will go to Erin and Human Resources. But only if you'll have me."

"I…"

"I didn't cross a line, did I?" he asked.

"No, not at all," I shook my head. "I'm just…_shocked_."

"So, will you have me?"

"Yeah. I just…I don't want to be ex-wife number four, if you know what I mean," I told him.

"I'm not proposing to you right now," he said.

"I know," I said, hoping I didn't say the wrong thing. "I just…I don't want to be thrown away like an old toy."

"I would never do that to you," he said, cupping my cheek with his rough hand. "I feel something for you that I never felt for any of my wives."

"Really?" I grinned. "How?"

"I see you smile and I want to be the reason for it. You're witty, smart, gorgeous… And the best of all—you're still _real_. You've seen so many horrible things, been through some yourself, but you haven't let that change you. You don't hide behind a mask. You don't act like an emotionless robot."

"Thank you," I whispered.

We were silent for a moment, but then something popped into my head.

"Uh, Rossi…d'you think we should keep this a secret until you talk to Strauss and HR?"

"I think that's probably best," he said, stroking my knuckles with his thumb.

"It's not that I'm ashamed. I just—"

"Forgive me if I cross another line here, but I've been wanting to do this for a long time," Rossi leaned over and filled the space between our faces.

It was almost the best kiss I've ever received. It would've been better had we not been interrupted by the snapping twig on the path behind us.

Quickly, Rossi leaned back against the rock and let go of my hand. The twig sounded like it came from far away, so I wasn't too worried that whoever it was had overheard us.

And thank God, because it was Morgan who stepped on the twig and then investigated behind the boulder a minute later.

* * *

All the excitement of the preceding hours didn't allow me to fall asleep. So, after spending about an hour of tossing and turning, I suddenly had the urge to go outside and sit by the pond in front of Rossi's cabin.

I crawled out of the bed and slipped into the moccasins I brought. I put a T-shirt on over my tank-top. I probably looked funny with the boxers I had brought in Quebec years before—they were red and had the Canadian flag over the front—but I didn't really care.

As I tiptoed down the hallway, I noticed one door was ajar. Curiously, I peered inside and my heart almost melted. Hotch had his strong arm around Jack, who was clinging to his father's white T-shirt.

Smiling uncontrollably, I continued down the hall, trying to be quiet as I went down the stairs. While crossing through the living room, I remarked to myself how much the cabin reminded me of the one in _The Bodyguard_, where they stay with Kevin Costner's dad for Christmas or whatever.

"I Have Nothing" started playing in my head and I sighed. As long as it wasn't "I Will Always Love You". I don't think I could handle the sappiness.

I walked outside, careful to shut the door quietly, and walked out into the cool midnight air. As I went down the little hill to the dock, I noticed that I wasn't the only night-bird.

"Can't sleep either?" I asked, feeling really clichéd.

"Nope," Rossi said, staring down at water. He was also wearing a pair of slippers, flannel pajama pants, and a white t-shirt. I immediately wanted to sleep like Hotch was with his son, me clinging onto Rossi's shirt, him with his arm around me.

"It's a beautiful night," I walked up behind him and stood at the edge of the dock.

"Mm-hmm," he nodded.

"Am I invading your privacy?" I asked, ready to go back into the cabin if he wanted to be alone.

"Not at all. I was just thinking that I wanted you to be here with me," Rossi put his arm around my shoulder and I snaked mine around his waist.

"I can't believe this is even happening," I told him. "Since when have you had feelings for me?"

"Do you remember when you, Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid barged into my office to profile me?"

"You're joking," I said, cracking a smile.

"I'm not," he shook his head. "I've wanted to kiss you since then."

"Well, I really think you should have," I told him. "We could've sped this process up a _long_ time ago."

"Allow me to make up for lost time."

* * *

So, this is the end of this installment! I have most of the sequel written out from my Quizilla days, but there will come a time when I'll have to actively start writing again, instead of just re-reading these old chapters and fixing things.

Hope you enjoyed this! And look out for Everybody Talks!

And thanks a million times for all the lovely reviews and favorites/follows! They really keep me going!


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